w 


THE  GRAYSONS 

A   STORY  OF  ILLINOIS 


BY 

EDWARD    EGGLESTON 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THE  h/OOSIER  SCHOOLMASTER," 
"ROXY,"    "THE    CIRCUIT   RIDER,"    ETC.,   ETC. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY 

ALLEGRA  EGGLESTON 


THE   CENTURY  CO. 

NEW-YORK. 


COPYRIGHT,  1887, 
BY  EDWARD  EGGLESTON. 


T«e  DEVINNE  PRESS. 


158  2- 


PREFACE. 


I  had  thought  to  close  up  the  cycle  of  my  stories  of  life  in 
the  Mississippi  Valley  ivith  "Roxy,"  which  was  published  in 
1878.  But  when  I  undertook  by  request  of  the  editor  to  write 
a  short  story  for  "  The  Century  Magazine,77  and  to  found  it  on 
a  legendary  account  of  one  of  President  Lincoln's  trials,  the 
theme  grew  on  my  hands  until  the  present  novel  was  the 
result.  It  was  written  mostly  at  Nervi,  near  Genoa,  ivhere 
I  could  not  by  any  possibility  have  verified  the  story  I  had 
received  about  1867  from  one  of  Lincoln's  old  neighbors. 
To  have  investigated  the  accuracy  of  my  version  of  the  anec 
dote  would  have  been,  indeed,  to  fly  in  the  face  and  eyes  of 
providence,  for  popular  tradition  is  itself  an  artist  rough- 
hewing  a  story  to  the  novelist's  hands.  During  the  appear 
ance  of  this  novel  in  serial  form  I  have  received  many  letters 
from  persons  acquainted  in  one  way  or  another  with  the 
actors  and  sufferers  in  the  events,  of  which  these  here  related 
are  the  ideal  counterparts.  Some  of  these  letters  contain  in 
formation  or  relate  incidents  of  so  much  interest  that  I  have 
it  in  mind  to  insert  them  in  an  appendix  to  some  later  edition 
of  this  booh. 

EDWARD   EGGLESTON. 

Joshua's  Rock,  Lake  George,  1888. 


M223178 


THIS  BOOK  is  RESPECTFULLY  INSCRIBED  TO  THE  HON.  JONATHAN 
CHACE,  UNITED  STATES  SENATOR  FROM  RHODE  ISLAND;  THE  HON. 
JOSEPH  HAWLEY,  UNITED  STATES  SENATOR  FROM  CONNECTICUT; 
THE  HON.  W.  C.  P.  BRECKENRIDGE,  REPRESENTATIVE  FROM  KEN 
TUCKY;  AND  THE  HON.  PATRICK  A.  COLLINS,  REPRESENTATIVE 
FROM  MASSACHUSETTS,  WHO  HAVE  RECENTLY  INTRODUCED  OR 

HAD  CHARGE  OF  INTERNATIONAL  COPYRIGHT    BlLLS,   AND  TO  THOSE 

MEMBERS  OF  BOTH  HOUSES  OF  CONGRESS  WHO  HAVE  COOPERATED 

WITH  THEM  IN  THE  EFFORT  TO  PUT  DOWN  LITERARY  BUCCANEERING. 

E.    E. 


TO  MY  FRIEND,   MABEL  COOKE, 

I  DEDICATE  THE   IDEALS  OF 

WHICH     THESE      ILLUSTRATIONS 

ARE    THE    FAINT   AND   AWK 
WARD  SHADOWS. 

THE  ILLUSTRATOR. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

I  TURNING  THE  BIBLE 

II  WINNING  AND  LOSING 

III  PAYING  THE  FIDDLER 

IV  LOCKWOOD'S  PLAN 

V  THE  MITTEN 

VI  UNCLE  AND  NEPHEW  53 

VII  LOCKWOOD'S  REVENGE  59 

VIII  BARBARA'S  PRIVATE  AFFAIRS  73 

IX  BY  THE  LOOM 

X  THE  AFFAIR  AT  TIMBER  CREEK  CAMP-MEETING          107 

XI  FRIENDS  IN  THE  NIGHT 

XII  A  TRIP  TO  BROAD  RUN  128 

XIII  A  BEAR  HUNT  146 

XIV  IN  PRISON  160 

XV  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  172 

XVI  THE  CORONER'S  INQUEST  182 

XVII  A  COUNCIL  OF  WAR  193 

XVIII  ZEKE  20° 

XIX  THE  MYTH  209 


PAGE 

XX  LINCOLN  AND  BOB  219 

XXI  HIRAM  AND  BARBARA  231 

XXII  THE  FIRST  DAY  OF  COURT  246 

XXIII  BROAD  RUN  IN  ARMS  250 

XXIV  FIRST  COME,  FIRST  SERVED  260 

XXV  LIKE  A  WOLF  ON  THE  FOLD  275 

XXVI  CIRCUMSTANTIAL  EVIDENCE  286 

XXVII  LIGHT  IN  A  DARK  PLACE  295 

XXVIII  FREE  313 

XXIX  THE  CLOSE  OF  A  CAREER  323 

XXX  TOM  AND  RACHEL  327 

XXXI  HIRAM  AND  BARBARA  338 

XXXII  THE  NEXT  MORNING  349 

XXXIII  POSTSCRIPTUM  352 


THE   GRAYSONS 


THE    GRAYSONS 


TURNING    THE    BIBLE 


HE  place  of  the  beginning  of  this  story  was  a 
country  neighborhood  on  a  shore,  if  one  may 
call  it  so,  that  divided  a  forest  and  prairie  in 
Central  Illinois.  The  date  was  nearly  a  life 
time  ago.  An  orange-colored  sun  going  down  behind  the 
thrifty  orchard  of  young  apple-trees  on  John  Albaugh's 
farm,  put  into  shadow  the  front  of  a  dwelling  which  had 
stood  in  wind  and  weather  long  enough  to  have  lost  the 
raw  look  of  newness,  and  to  have  its  tints  so  softened  that 
it  had  become  a  part  of  the  circumjacent  landscape.  The 
phebe-bird,  locally  known  as  the  pewee,  had  just  finished 
calling  from  the  top  of  the  large  barn,  and  a  belated  harvest- 
fly,  or  singing  locust,  as  the  people  call  him,  was  yet  filling 
the  warm  air  with  the  most  summery  of  all  summery  notes 
—  notes  that  seem  to  be  felt  as  well  as  heard,  pushing  one 


Q  THE  GRAYSONS 

another  faster  and  yet  faster  through  the  quivering  atmos 
phere,  and  then  dying  away  by  degrees  into  languishing, 
long-drawn,  and  at  last  barely  audible  vibrations. 

Rachel,  the  daughter  of  the  prosperous  owner  of  the  farm, 
was  tying  some  jasmine  vines  to  the  upright  posts  that 
supported  the  roof  of  a  porch,  or  veranda,  which  stretched 
along  the  entire  front  of  the  house.  She  wore  a  fresh  calico 
gown,  and  she  had  something  the  air  of  one  expecting  the 
arrival  of  guests.  She  almost  always  expected  company  in 
the  evening  of  a  fine  day.  For  the  young  person  whose 
fortune  it  is  to  be  by  long  odds  the  finest-looking  woman  in 
a  new  country  where  young  men  abound,  and  where  women 
are  appreciated  at  a  rate  proportioned  to  their  scarcity, 
knows  what  it  is  to  be  a  "reigning  belle"  indeed.  In  the 
vigorous  phrase  of  the  country,  Rachel  was  described  as 
"  real  knock-down  handsome  » ;  and,  tried  by  severer  stand 
ards  than  those  of  Illinois,  her  beauty  would  have  been 
beyond  question.  She  had  the  three  essentials :  eyes  that 
were  large  and  lustrous,  a  complexion  rich  and  fresh,  yet 
delicately  tinted,  and  features  well-balanced  and  harmoni 
ous.  Her  blonde  hair  was  abundant,  and,  like  everything 
about  her,  vital.  Her  hands  and  feet  were  not  overlarge, 
and,  fortunately,  they  were  not  disproportionately  small ; 
but  just  the  hands  and  feet  of  a  well-developed  country  girl 
used  to  activity  and  the  open  air.  Without  being  more  than 
ordinarily  clever,  she  had  a  certain  passive  intelligence. 
Her  voice  was  not  a  fine  one,  nor  had  her  manners  any  par 
ticular  charm  except  that  which  comes  from  the  repose  of 


NU    THE  BIBLE 


one  who  understands  that  she  is  at  her  best  when  silent, 
and  who  feels  herself  easily  ahead  of  rivals  without  making 
any  exertion.  Hers  was  one  of  those  faces  the  sight  of 
which  quickens  the  pulses  even  of  an  old  man,  and  attracts 
young  men  with  a  fascination  as  irresistible  as  it  is  beyond 
analysis  or  description.  Many  young  men  were  visitors  at 
John  Albaugh's  hospitable  house,  and  where  the  young  men 
came  the  young  women  were  prone  to  come,  and  thus 
Albaugh's  became  a  place  of  frequent  and  spontaneous 
resort  for  the  young  people  from  all  the  country  round. 

But  it  had  happened  with  this  much-courted  girl,  as  it  has 
happened  to  many  another  like  her,  that  with  all  the  world 
to  choose  from,  she  had  tarried  single  longer  than  her  com 
panions.  Rachel  was  now  past  twenty-three,  in  a  land 
where  a  woman  was  accounted  something  of  an  old  maid  if 
unmarried  at  twenty.  Beauties  such  as  she  find  a  certain 
pleasure  in  playing  with  their  destiny,  as  pussy  loves  the 
excitement  of  trifling  with  the  mouse  that  can  hardly  escape 
her  in  any  way.  Prey  that  comes  too  easily  in  reach  is  not 
highly  valued.  Every  bid  for  such  a  woman's  hand  leads 
her  to  raise  her  estimation  of  her  own  value.  Rachel's  lovers 
came  and  went,  and  married  themselves  to  young  women 
without  beauty.  Lately,  however,  Rachel  Albaugh's  neigh 
bors  began  to  think  that  she  had  at  length  fallen  in  love 
"  for  keeps,"  as  the  country  phrase  expressed  it. 

"  I  say,  Rache,"  called  her  brother  Ike,  a  youth  of  fifteen, 
who  was  just  then  half  -hidden  in  the  boughs  of  the  summer 
apple-tree  by  the  garden  gate,  "  they  's  somebody  coming." 


4  THE  GRAY  SONS 

"  Who  is  it,  Ike !» 

"  Henry  Miller  and  the  two  Miller  girls." 

"  Oh !  is  that  all  ?  "  said  Rachel,  in  a  teasing  tone. 

"  Is  that  all  f "  said  Ike.  "  You  don't  care  for  anybody 
but  Tom  Grayson  these  days.  I  '11  bet  you  Tom  '11  be  here 
to-night." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  "  asked  Rachel,  trying  not 
to  evince  any  interest  in  the  information. 

"  Don't  you  wish  you  knew  ? "  he  answered,  glad  to  repay 
her  teasing  in  kind. 

"  Did  you  see  him  to-day  ?  " 

"  Say,  Sis,"  said  Ike,  affecting  to  dismiss  the  subject, 
"  here  's  an  awful  nice  apple.  Can  you  ketch  ? " 

Rachel  held  up  her  hands  to  catch  the  apple,  baring  her 
pretty  arms  by  the  falling  back  of  her  loose  sleeves.  The 
mischievous  Ike  threw  a  swift  ball,  and  Rachel,  holding  her 
hands  for  it,  could  not  help  shrinking  as  the  apple  came 
flying  at  her.  She  shut  her  eyes  and  ducked  her  head,  and 
of  course  the  apple  went  past  her,  bowling  away  along  the 
porch  and  off  the  other  end  of  it  into  the  grass. 

"  That  's  just  like  a  girl,"  said  Ike.  "  Here  's  a  better 
apple.  I  won't  throw  so  hard  this  time."  And  Rachel 
caught  the  large  striped  apple  in  her  two  hands. 

"I  say,  Ike,"  she  said,  coaxingly,  "where  did  you  see 
Tom?" 

"  Oh  !  I  met  him  over  on  the  big  road  as  I  went  to  mill 
this  morning ;  he  was  going  home  to  his  mother's,  an'  he 
said  he  was  coming  over  to  see  you  to-night.  An'  I  told 


TURNING   THE  BIBLE  5 

him  to  fetch  Barbara,  so  >s  I  'd  have  somebody  to  talk  to, 
'cause  you  would  n't  let  me  get  a  word  in  ageways  with 
him.  An'  Tom  laughed  an'  looked  tickled." 

"  I  guess  you  won't  talk  much  to  Barbara  while  Ginnie 
Miller  's  here,"  Rachel  said  j  and  by  this  time  Henry  Miller 
and  his  two  sisters  were  nearing  the  white  gate  which  stood 
forty  feet  away  from  the  cool  front  porch  of  the  house. 

"  Howdy,  Rachel ! "  said  Henry  Miller,  as  he  reached  the 
gate,  and  "  Howdy !  Howdy  ! "  came  from  the  two  sisters, 
to  which  Rachel  answered  with  a  cordial  "  Howdy !  Come 
in ! "  meant  for  the  three.  When  they  reached  the  porch, 
she  led  the  way  through  the  open  front  door  to  the  "  settin' 
room  "  of  the  house,  as  the  living-room  was  always  called 
in  that  day.  The  fire-place  looked  like  an  extinct  crater ; 
curtains  of  narrow  green  slats  hung  at  the  windows,  and 
the  floor  was  covered  by  a  new  rag-carpet  in  which  was  im 
bedded  a  whole  history  of  family  costume ;  a  patient  geolo 
gist  might  have  discovered  in  it  traces  of  each  separate 
garment  worn  in  the  past  five  years  by  the  several  members 
of  the  Albaugh  family.  The  mantel-piece  was  common 
place  enough,  of  "poplar"  wood — that  is,  tulip-tree — 
painted  brown.  The  paint  while  fresh  had  been  scratched 
in  rhythmical  waves  with  a  common  coarse  comb.  This 
graining  resembled  that  of  some  wood  yet  undiscovered. 
The  table  at  the  side  of  the  room  farthest  from  the  door 
had  a  cover  of  thin  oil-cloth  decorated  with  flowers ;  most 
of  them  done  in  yellow.  A  tall  wooden  clock  stood  against 
the  wall  at  the  right  of  the  door  as  you  entered,  and  its 
1* 


6  THE   GRAYSONS 

slow  ticking  seemed  to  make  the  room  cooler.  For  the 
rest,  there  was  a  black  rocking-chair  with  a  curved  wooden 
seat  and  uncomfortable  round  slats  in  the  back ;  there  were 
some  rank-and-file  chairs  besides, —  these  were  black,  with 
yellow  stripes;  and  there  was  a  green  settee  with  three 
rockers  beneath  and  an  arm  at  each  end. 

Henry  Miller  was  a  square-set  young  fellow,  without  a 
spark  of  romance  in  him.  He  had  plowed  corn  all  day,  and 
he  would  have  danced  all  night  had  the  chance  offered,  and 
then  followed  the  plow  the  next  day.  His  sisters  were  like 
him,  plain  and  of  a  square  type  that  bespoke  a  certain  sort 
of  "  Pennsylvania  Dutch  "  ancestry,  though  the  Millers  had 
migrated  to  Illinois,  not  from  Pennsylvania,  but  from  one 
of  the  old  German  settlements  in  the  valley  of  Virginia. 
Ike  jumped  out  of  the  apple-tree  to  follow  Virginia,  the 
youngest  of  the  Millers,  into  the  house ;  there  was  between 
him  and  "  Ginnie,"  as  she  was  called,  that  sort  of  adolescent 
attachment,  or  effervescent  reaction,  which  always  appears 
to  the  parties  involved  in  it  the  most  serious  interest  in 
the  universe,  and  to  everybody  else  something  deliciously 
ridiculous ;  a  sort  of  burlesque  of  the  follies  of  people 
more  mature. 

This  was  destined  to  be  one  of  Rachel's  "  company  even 
ings";  she  had  not  more  than  seated  the  Millers  and  taken 
the  girls7  bonnets  to  a  place  of  security,  when  there  was  a 
knock  on  the  door- jamb.  It  was  Mely  McCord,  who  had 
once  been  a  hired  help  in  the  Albaugh  family.  There  were 
even  in  that  day  wide  differences  in  wealth  and  education 


TURNING   THE  BIBLE  7 

in  Illinois,  but  class  demarcations  there  were  not.  Nothing 
was  more  natural  than  that  Mely,  who  had  come  over  from 
Hubbard  township  to  visit  some  cousin  in  the  neighborhood, 
should  visit  the  Albaughs.  Mely  McCord  was  a  girl — she 
was  always  called  a  girl,  though  now  a  little  in  the  past 
tense — with  a  stoop  in  the  shoulders,  and  hair  that  would 
have  been  better  if  it  had  been  positively  and  decoratively 
red.  As  it  was,  her  head  seemed  always  striving  to  be  red 
without  ever  attaining  to  any  purity  of  color. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Magill,  an  Irish  bachelor  of  thirty- 
five,  who,  being  county  clerk,  was  prudently  riding  through 
the  country  in  order  to  keep  up  his  acquaintance  with  the 
voters,  hitched  his  horse  at  the  fence  outside  of  the  Albaugh 
gate,  and  came  in  just  as  Rachel  was  bringing  a  candle. 
Though  he  had  no  notion  of  cumbering  himself  with  a  fam 
ily  or  with  anything  else  likely  to  interfere  with  the  freedom 
or  pleasure  of  "  an  Irish  gentleman/7  Magill  was  very  fond 
of  playing  at  gallantry,  and  he  affected  a  great  liking  for 
what  he  called  "  faymale  beauty,"  and  plumed  himself  on 
the  impression  his  own  sprucely  dressed  person  and  plump 
face  —  a  little  overruddy,  especially  toward  the  end  of  the 
nose — might  make  on  the  sex.  He  could  never  pass  Al- 
baugh's  without  stopping  to  enjoy  a  platonic  flirtation  with 
Rachel.  George  Lockwood  arrived  at  the  same  time;  he 
was  a  clerk  in  Wooden's  store,  at  the  county-seat  village  of 
Moscow,  and  he  could  manage,  on  his  busiest  days  even,  to 
spend  half  an  hour  in  selling  a  spool  of  cotton  thread  to 
Rachel  Albaugh.  He  had  now  come  five  miles  in  the  vain 


8  THE  GRATSONS 

hope  of  finding  her  alone.  The  country  beauty  appreciated 
the  flattery  of  his  long  ride,  and  received  his  attention  with 
a  pleasure  undisguised. 

George  Lockwood's  was  no  platonic  sentiment.  He 
watched  intently  every  motion  of  Rachel's  arms  only  half- 
hidden  in  her  open-sleeved  dress  j  even  the  rustling  of  the 
calico  of  her  gown  made  his  pulses  flutter.  He  made  a 
shame-faced  effort  to  conceal  his  agitation  ;  he  even  tried  to 
devote  himself  to  Mely  McCord  and  the  "  Miller  girls  "  now 
and  then;  but  his  eyes  followed  Rachel's  tranquil  move 
ments,  as  she  amused  herself  with  MagilFs  bald  flatteries, 
and  Lockwood  could  not  help  turning  himself  from  side  to 
side  in  order  to  keep  the  ravishing  vision  in  view  when 
he  was  talking  to  some  one  else. 

"You  had  better  make  the  most  of  your  chance,  Mr. 
Lockwood,"  said  pert  little  Virginia  Miller,  piqued  by  his 
absent-minded  pretense  of  talking  with  her. 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  talk  to  Rachel  while  you  can,  for  maybe  after  a 
while  you  can't ! n 

"  Why  can't  I  ?" 

"  She  's  glad  enough  to  talk  to  you  now,  but  just  you 
wait  till  Tom  Grayson  comes.  If  he  should  happen  in  to 
night,  what  do  you  think  would  become  of  you  f  " 

"  Maybe  I  'm  not  so  dead  in  love  as  you  think,"  he  an 
swered. 

11  You  ?  You  're  past  hope.  Your  eyes  go  round  the  room 
after  her  like  a  sunflower  twistin'  its  neck  off  to  see  the  sun." 


TVRNING   THE  BIBLE  9 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  George.  "  You  know  better  than  that." 
But  Virginia  noted  with  amusement  that  his  smile  of  af 
fected  indifference  was  rather  a  forced  one,  and  that  he  was 
"  swallowing  his  feelings,"  as  she  put  it.  He  took  her  ad 
vice  as  soon  as  he  dared  and  crossed  to  where  Rachel  was 
sitting  with  the  back  of  her  chair  against  the  jamb  of  the 
mantel-piece.  Rachel  was  smiling  a  little  foolishly  at  the 
shameless  palaver  of  Magill,  who  told  her  that  there  was  a 
ravishing  perfiction  about  her  faychers  that  he  'd  niver 
sane  surpassed,  though  he  'd  had  the  exquisite  playsure  of 
dancing  with  many  of  the  most  beautiful  faymales  in  Eu 
rope.  Rachel,  a  little  sick  of  unwatered  sweetness,  was 
glad  to  have  George  Lockwood  interrupt  the  frank  criti 
cisms  of  an  appreciative  connoisseur  of  loveliness. 

"  I  hear  Tom  Grayson  outside  now,"  said  Mely  McCord, 
in  a  half- whisper  to  Henry  Miller.  "  George  Lockwood 
won't  be  nowhere  when  he  gits  here  n  ;  and  Mely's  freckled 
face  broke  into  ripples  of  delight  at  the  evident  annoyance 
which  Lockwood  began  to  show  at  hearing  Grayson's  voice 
on  the  porch.  Tom  Grayson  was  preceded  by  his  sister  Bar 
bara,  a  rather  petite  figure,  brunette  in  complexion,  with  a 
face  that  was  interesting  and  intelligent,  and  that  had  an 
odd  look  hard  to  analyze,  but  which  came  perhaps,  from  a 
slight  lack  of  symmetry.  As  a  child,  she  had  been  called 
"  cunning,"  in  the  popular  American  use  of  the  word  when 
applied  to  children ;  that  is  to  say,  piquantly  interesting ; 
and  this  characteristic  of  quaint  piquancy  of  appearance 
she  retained,  now  that  she  was  a  young  woman  of  eighteen. 


10  THE   GRAY  SONS 

Her  brother  Tom  was  a  middle-sized,  well-proportioned 
man,  about  two  years  older  than  she,  of  a  fresh,  vivacious 
countenance,  and  with  a  be-gone-dull-care  look.  He  had  a 
knack  of  imparting  into  any  company  something  of  his  own 
cheerful  heedlessness,  and  for  this  his  society  was  prized. 
He  spoke  to  everybody  right  cordially,  and  shook  hands 
with  all  the  company  as  though  they  had  been  his  first 
cousins,  looking  in  every  face  without  reserve  or  suspicion, 
and  he  was  greeted  on  all  hands  with  a  corresponding 
heartiness.  But  while  Tom  saluted  everybody,  his  eye 
turned  toward  Rachel,  and  he  made  his  way  as  quickly  as 
possible  to  the  farther  corner  of  the  room  where  she  was 
standing  in  conversation  with  George  Lockwood.  He  ex 
tended  his  hand  to  her  with  a  hearty 

"  Well,  Rache,  how  are  you  ?  It  would  cure  fever  and 
ague  to  see  you  "  j  and  then  turning  to  Lockwood  he  said : 
"  Hello,  George !  you  out  here  !  I  would  n't  'ave  thought 
there  was  any  other  fellow  fool  enough  to  ride  five  miles  and 
back  to  get  a  look  at  Rachel  but  me."  And  at  that  he  laughed, 
not  a  laugh  that  had  any  derision  in  it,  or  any  defiance,  only 
the  outbreaking  of  animal  spirits  that  were  unchecked  by 
foreboding  or  care. 

"  I  say,  George,"  he  went  on,  "  let  >s  go  out  and  fight  a 
duel  and  have  it  over.  There  7s  no  chance  for  any  of  us 
here  till  Rachel's  beaux  are  thinned  out  a  little.  If  I  should 
get  you  killed  off  and  out  of  the  way,  I  suppose  I  should 
have  to  take  Mr.  Magill  next." 

"  No,  Tom,  it 's  not  with  me  you  >d  foight,  me  boy.    I  >ve 


TURNING   THE  BIBLE  11 

sane  too  many  handsome  girls  to  fight  over  them,  though  I 
have  never  sane  such  transcindent " 

"  Ah,  hush  now,  Mr.  Magill,"  entreated  Rachel. 

"  Faymale  beauty  's  always  adorned  by  modesty,  Miss  Al- 
baugh.  I  '11  only  add,  that  whoever  Miss  Rachel  stoops  to 
marry  " — and  Magill  laughed  a  slow,  complacent  laugh  as  he 
put  an  emphasis  on  stoops  —  "  I  '11  be  a  thorn  in  his  soide,  d' 
yeh  mark  that ;  f  er  to  the  day  of  me  death,  I  '11  be  her  most 
devoted  admoirer  " ;  and  he  made  a  half -bow  at  the  close  of 
his  speech,  with  a  quick  recovery,  which  expressed  his  sense 
of  the  formidable  character  of  his  own  personal  charms. 

But  if  Magill  was  a  connoisseur  of  beauty  he  was  also  a 
politician  too  prudent  to  slight  any  one.  He  was  soon  after 
this  paying  the  closest  heed  to  Mely  McCord's  very  spon 
taneous  talk.  He  had  selected  Mely  in  order  that  he  might 
not  get  a  reputation  for  being  "  stuck  up." 

"  Tom  Gray  son  a'n't  the  leas'  bit  afeerd  uh  George  Lock- 
wood  nur  nobody  else,"  said  Mely  rather  confidentially  to 
Magill,  who  stood  with  hands  crossed  under  the  tail  of  his 
blue- gray  coat.  "  He  all-ays  wuz  that  away ;  a  kind  V  a 
high-headed,  don't-keer  sort  uv  a  feller.  He  'd  better  luck 
out,  though.  Rache  's  one  uh  them  skittish  kind  uh  critters 
that  don't  stan'  'thout  hitchin',  an'  weth  a  halter  knot  at 
that.  Tom  Grayson  >s  not  the  fust  feller  that 's  felt  shore 
she  wuz  his  ?n  an'  then  found  out  kind  uh  suddently  't  'e 
wuz  n't  so  almighty  shore  arter  all.  But,  lawsee  gracious ! 
Tom  Grayson  a'n't  afeerd  uv  nothing  nohow.  When  the 
master  wuz  a-lickin'  him  wunst,  at  school,  an'  gin  >im  three 


12  THE  GRAY  SONS 

cuts,  an'  then  says,  says  he,  '  You  may  go  now,'  Tom,  he  jes 
lucks  at  'im  an'  says  uz  peart  's  ever  you  see,  says  he, 
1  Gimme  another  to  make  it  even  numbers.' " 

"An'  how  did  the  master  fale  about  that?  "  asked  Magill, 
who  had  been  a  school-master  himself. 

"  Wy  he  jes  let  him  have  it  good  an'  tight  right  around 
his  legs.  Tom  walked  off  an'  never  wunst  said  thank  yeh, 
sir.  He  did  n'  wear  uz  good  close  in  them  days  's  'e  does 
now,  by  a  long  shot.  His  mother's  farm  's  in  the  timber,  an' 
slow  to  open ;  so  many  stumps  and  the  like ;  an'  'f  'is  uncle 
down  't  Moscow  had  n't  a'  tuck  him  up,  he  'd  'a'  been 
a-plowin'  in  that  air  stickey  yaller  clay  'v  Hubbard  town 
ship  yit.  But  you  know  ole  Tom  Grayson,  his  father's 
brother,  seein'  's  Tom  wuz  named  arter  him,  an'  wuz  prom- 
isin'  like,  an'  had  the  gift  of  the  gab,  he  thought  's  how 
Tom  mought  make  'n  all-fired  smart  lawyer  ur  doctor,  ur 
the  like ;  an'  seein'  's  he  had  n'  got  no  boy  to  do  choores 
about,  he  takes  Tom  an'  sends  him  to  school  three  winters, 
an'  now  I  believe  he 's  put  him  to  readin'  law." 

"  Yis,  I  know  he  went  into  Blackman's  office  last  May," 

said  Magill. 

"Ole  Tom  Grayson  's  never  done  nothin'  fer  the  old 
woman  nur  little  Barb'ry,  there,  an'  little  Barb'ry  's  the 
very  flower  of  the  flock,  accordin'  to  my  tell,"  Mely  went  on. 
"  Mrs.  Grayson  sticks  to  the  ole  farm,  yeh  know,  an'  rents 
one  field  to  pap  on  the  sheers,  an'  works  the  rest  uv  it  by 
hirin'.  She  sets  a  mighty  sight  uv  store  by  Tom.  Talks 
about  'im  by  the  hour.  She  'lows  he  '11  be  a-gittin'  to  Con- 


TURNING   THE  BIBLE  13 

gress  nex'  thing.  But  I  <T  know  "  —  and  here  Mely  shook 
her  head.  "High  nose  stumped  his  toes,"  says  J.  "Jes 
look  how  he  ?s  a-carryin'  on  with  Rache,  now." 

"  She  's  older  >n  he  is/'  said  the  clerk,  knowing  that  even 
this  half  unfavorable  comment  would  be  a  comfort  to  one 
so  far  removed  from  rivalry  with  her  as  Mely. 

"  Three  years  ef  she  ?s  a  day,"  responded  Mely  promptly. 
"  Jest  look  at  that  Lockwood.  He  's  like  a  colt  on  the  out 
side  of  a  paster  fence,  now," —  and  Mely  giggled  heartily  at 
Lockwood's  evident  discomfiture. 

In  gossip  and  banter  the  time  went  by,  until  some  one 
proposed  to  "  turn  the  Bible."  I  do  not  know  where  this 
form  of  sortilege  originated;  it  is  probably  as  old  as 
Luther's  Bible.  One  can  find  it  practiced  in  Germany 
to-day  as  it  is  in  various  parts  of  the  United  States. 

"  Come,  Sophronia,  you  and  me  will  hold  the  key,"  said 
Lockwood,  who  was  always  quick  to  seize  an  advantage. 

These  two,  therefore,  set  themselves  to  tell  the  fortunes 
of  the  company.  The  large  iron  key  to  the  front  door  and 
a  short,  fat  little  pocket-Bible  were  the  magic  implements. 
The  ward  end  of  the  key  was  inserted  between  the  leaves 
of  the  Bible  at  the  first  chapter  of  Ruth;  the  book  was 
closed  and  a  string  bound  so  tightly  about  it  as  to  hold 
it  firmly  to  the  key.  The  ring  end  of  the  key  protruded. 
This  was  carefully  balanced  on  the  tips  of  the  forefingers 
of  Lockwood  and  Sophronia  Miller,  so  that  the  Bible  hung 
between  and  below  their  hands.  A  very  slight  motion, 
unconscious  and  invisible,  of  either  of  the  supporting 
2 


14  THE  GRAYSONS 

fingers  would  be  sufficient  to  precipitate  the  Bible  and 
key  to  the  iloor. 

"  Who  can  say  the  verse  ? "  asked  Lockwood. 

"  I  know  it  like  a  book,"  said  Virginia  Miller. 

"  You  say  it,  Ginnie,"  said  her  sister  5  "  but  whose  turn 
first!" 

The  two  amateur  sorcerers,  with  fingers  under  the  key 
ring,  sat  face  to  face  in  the  dim  light  of  the  candle,  their 
right  elbows  resting  on  their  knees  as  they  bent  forward 
to  hold  the  Bible  between  them.  The  others  stood  about 
with  countenances  expressing  curiosity  and  amusement. 

"  Rachel  first,"  said  Henry  Miller  ;  "  everybody  wants  to 
know  who  in  thun deration  Rache  mil  marry,  ef  she  ever 
marries  anybody.  I  don't  believe  even  the  Bible  can  tell 
that.  Turn  fer  Rachel  Albaugh,  and  let  's  see  how  it 
comes  out.  Say  the  verse,  Ginnie." 

"  Letter  A,"  said  Virginia  Miller,  solemnly ;  and  then  she 
repeated  the  words  like  a  witch  saying  a  charm : 

" l  Intreat  me  not  to  leave  thee,  or  to  return  from  fol 
lowing  after  thee:  for  whither  thou  goest,  I  will  go;  and 
where  thou  lodgest,  I  will  lodge :  thy  people  shall  be  my 
people,  and  thy  God  my  God :  where  thou  diest  will  I  die, 
and  there  will  I  be  buried/  " 

The  key  did  not  turn.  It  was  manifest,  therefore,  that 
Rachel  would  never  marry  any  man  whose  name  began 
with  the  first  letter  of  the  alphabet.  The  letter  B  was 
called,  and  again  the  solemn  charm  was  repeated ;  the 
company  resting  breathless  to  the  end.  The  Bible  and  key 


TURNING   THE  BIBLE  15 

refused  to  respond  for  B,  or  C,  or  D,  or  E,  or  F.  But 
when  Ginnie  Miller  announced  "Letter  G,"  it  was  with 
a  voice  that  betrayed  a  consciousness  of  having  reached  a 
critical  point  in  her  descent  of  the  alphabet ;  there  was  a 
rustle  of  expectation  in  the  room,  and  even  Me  Gill,  stand 
ing  meditatively  with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  shifted 
his  weight  from  his  left  foot  to  his  right  so  as  to  have  a 
better  view  of  any  antics  the  Bible  might  take  a  notion  to 
perform.  Just  as  Virginia  Miller  reached  the  words  "  and 
where  thou  diest  will  I  die,"  the  key  slipped  off  Sophro- 
nia's  fingers  first,  and  the  book  fell  to  the  floor. 

"  G  stands  for  Grayson,"  said  Magill  gravely,  but  he 
pronounced  his  "  G  "  so  nearly  like  "  J  "  that  a  titter  went 
around  the  room. 

"  Don't  you  know  better  than  to  spell  Grayson  with  a  J, 
Mr.  Magill?"  asked  Rachel. 

Magill  did  not  see  the  drift  of  the  question,  and  before 
he  could  reply,  Lockwood,  without  looking  up,  broke  in 
with  :  "  What  are  you  talking  about,  all  of  you  ?  It 's  not 
the  last  name,  it  7s  the  given  name  you  go  by." 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Mely  McCord,  in  mild  derision,  "  George 
begins  with  G.  I  did  n't  think  of  that." 

"  Yis,"  said  Magill,  reflectively,  "  that 's  a  fact ;  George 
does  begin  with  jay  too." 

"  I  tell  you  it 's  the  last  name,"  said  Tom,  laughing. 

"I  tell  you  it  is  n't,"  said  Lockwood,  doggedly;  but 
Henry  Miller,  seeing  a  chance  for  disagreeable  words,  made 
haste  to  say :  "  Come,  boys,  it 's  the  good-natured  one  that  '11 


16  THE   GEATSONS 

win.  Hang  up  the  Bible  once  more  and  let  's  see  if  it  '11 
drop  for  Lockwood  when  it  gets  to  L,  or  for  Tom  when  we 
come  to  T.  I  don't  more  than  half  believe  in  the  thing.  It 
never  will  turn  for  me  on  anything  but  Q,  and  they  a'n't  no 
girl  with  Q  to  her  name  this  side  of  Jericho  except  Queen 
Brooks,  an'  she  lives  thirteen  miles  away  an'  7s  engaged  to 
another  feller,  and  I  would  n't  look  at  her  twiste  if  she  wuz 
n't,  nur  she  't  me  like  's  not.  Come,  Ginnie,  gee-up  your 
oxen.  Let  's  have  H." 

The  Bible  refused  to  turn  at  H. 

"  Rachel  won't  marry  you,  Henry  Miller,"  said  the  county 
clerk. 

"  No,"  said  Henry,  "  Rache  an7  me  's  always  been  first-rate 
friends,  but  she  knows  me  too  well  to  fall  in  love  with  me, 
an?  I  'm  the  only  feller  in  this  end  of  the  county  that  7s 
never  made  a  fool  of  myself  over  Rachel." 

Neither  would  the  Bible  turn  at  I,  J,  or  K.  But  at  L  it 
turned. 

"  Of  course  it  '11  turn  at  L,  when  Lockwood  's  got  hold  of 
the  key,"  said  Tom  with  another  laugh.  "  That 's  what  he 
took  hold  for." 

"  That  's  the  same  as  saying  I  don't  play  fair,"  said  Lock- 
wood,  with  irritation. 

"  Fair  and  square  a'n't  just  your  way,  G-eorge.  But  there 
's  no  use  being  cross  about  it." 

"  Come,  boys,  if  you  're  going  to  quarrel  over  the  Bible 
you  can't  have  it,"  said  Rachel,  who  loved  tranquillity.  "As 
for  me,  I  'm  going  to  marry  whoever  I  please,  and  I  won't 


TURNING   THE  BIBLE  17 

get  married  till  I  please,  Bible  or  no  Bible  " ;  and  she  untied 
the  string,  put  the  rusty  key  in  the  door,  and  laid  the  plump 
little  book  in  its  old  place  on  the  mantel-piece,  until  it 
should  be  wanted  again  for  religious  disputation  or  fortune- 
telling. 

Grayson  went  rattling  on  with  cheerful  and  good-natured 
nonsense,  but  George  Lockwood,  pushed  into  the  shade  by 
Tom's  ready  talk  and  by  Rachel's  apparent  preference  for 
him,  was  not  in  a  very  good  humor,  and  departed  early  in 
company  with  Magill.  After  all  the  rest  had  gone,  Barbara 
Grayson  had  to  remind  Tom  more  than  once  of  the  lateness 
of  the  hour,  for  nine  o'clock  was  late  in  that  day. 

"  Send  him  home,  Rachel,"  she  said,  "  at  half -past  nine  ; 
he  '11  never  go  while  you  look  good-natured."  Then,  taking 
her  brother  by  the  arm,  Barbara  led  him  to  the  gate. 
Rachel  followed,  almost  as  reluctant  to  close  the  evening  as 
Tom  himself. 


II 

WINNING    AND    LOSING 

HE  next  Friday  evening  Gray  son  and  Lock- 
wood  were  again  brought  together ;  this  time 
in  the  miscellaneous  store  of  Wooden  &  Sny- 
der,  in  which  George  Lockwood  was  the  only 
clerk.  Here  after  closing-time  the  young  men  of  the  village 
were  accustomed  to  gratify  their  gregarious  propensities ; 
this  was  a  club-room,  where,  amid  characteristic  odors  of 
brown  sugar,  plug  tobacco,  new  calico,  vinegar,  whisky, 
molasses,  and  the  dressed  leather  of  boots  and  shoes, 
social  intercourse  was  carried  on  by  a  group  seated  on 
the  top  of  nail-kegs,  the  protruding  ends  of  shoe-boxes, 
and  the  counters  that  stretched  around  three  sides  of  the 
room.  Here  were  related  again  all  those  stock  anecdotes 
which  have  come  down  from  an  antiquity  inconceivably 
remote,  but  which  in  every  village  are  yet  told  as  having 
happened  three  or  four  miles  away,  and  three  or  four  years 
ago,  to  the  intimate  friend  of  the  narrator's  uncle.  The 
frequency  of  such  assemblies  takes  off  something  of  their 
zest ;  where  everybody  knows  all  his  neighbor's  history  and 

18 


WINNING  AND  LOSING  19 

has  heard  everybody  else's  favorite  story,  a  condition  of 
mental  equilibrium  ensues,  and  there  is  no  exchange  of 
electricities.  The  new-comer,  or  the  man  who  has  been 
away,  is  a  heaven-send  in  a  village ;  he  stirs  its  stagnant 
intellect  as  a  fresh  breeze,  and  is  for  the  time  the  hero  of 
every  congregation  of  idlers. 

Such  a  man  on  this  evening  was  Dave  Sovine,  the  son  of 
a  settler  from  one  of  the  Channel  Islands.  Four  years  ago, 
when  but  sixteen  years  old,  Dave  had  unluckily  waked  up 
one  summer  morning  at  daybreak.  Looking  out  of  the  lit 
tle  window  in  the  end  of  the  loft  of  his  father's  house,  he 
had  contemplated  with  disgust  a  large  field  of  Indian  corn 
to  be  "  plowed  out n  that  day  under  a  June  sun.  So  repul 
sive  to  his  nature  was  the  landscape  of  young  maize  and 
the  prospect  of  toil,  that  he  dressed  himself,  tied  up  his 
spare  clothes  in  a  handkerchief,  and,  taking  his  boots  in  his 
hand,  descended  noiselessly  the  stairway  which  was  in  the 
outside  porch  of  the  house.  Once  on  the  ground,  he  drew 
on  his  boots  and  got  away  toward  the  "Wabash,  where  he 
shipped  as  cook  on  a  flat-boat  bound  for  New  Orleans.  No 
pursuit  or  inquiry  was  made  by  his  family,  and  the  neigh 
bors  suspected  that  his  departure  was  not  a  source  of  regret. 
At  Shawneetown  the  flat-boat  was  suddenly  left  without  a 
cook.  Dave  had  been  sent  up  in  the  town  with  a  little 
money  to  lay  in  supplies  of  coffee  and  sugar;  instead  of 
coming  back,  he  surreptitiously  shipped  as  cabin-boy  on  the 
steamboat  Queen  of  the  West,  which  was  just  leaving  the 
landing,  bound  also  for  the  "  lower  country."  Sovine  had 


20  THE   GRAY  SONS 

afterward  been  in  the  Gulf,  lie  had  had  adventures  in  Mex 
ico,  and  he  had  contrived  to  pick  up  whatever  of  evil  was 
to  be  learned  in  every  place  he  visited.  He  had  now  come 
home  ostensibly  "  to  see  the  folks,"  but  really  to  gratify  his 
vanity  in  astonishing  his  old  acquaintances  by  an  admira 
ble  proficiency  in  deviltry.  His  tales  of  adventure  were 
strange  and  exciting,  and  not  likely  to  shrink  in  the  telling. 
The  youth  of  Moscow  listened  with  open-mouthed  admira 
tion  to  one  who,  though  born  in  their  village,  had  seen 
so  much  of  the  world  and  broken  all  of  the  command 
ments.  For  his  skill  at  cards  they  soon  had  not  only  ad 
miration  but  dread.  He  had  emptied  the  pockets  of  his 
companions  by  a  kind  of  prestidigitation  quite  incompre 
hensible  to  them.  He  seemed  to  play  fairly,  but  there  was 
not  a  loafer  in  Moscow  who  had  not  become  timid  about 
playing  with  Dave ;  the  long  run  of  luck  was  ever  on  his 
side.  It  was  much  more  amusing  to  his  companions  to 
hear  him,  with  ugly  winks  and  the  complacent  airs  of  a  man 
who  feels  sure  that  he  had  cut  his  eyeteeth,  tell  how  he  had 
plucked  others  in  gambling  than  to  furnish  him  with  new 
laurels  at  their  own  expense. 

On  this  particular  evening  Dave  Sovine  lounged  on  one 
of  the  counters,  with  a  stack  of  unbleached  "domestic" 
cloth  for  a  bolster,  while  his  bright  patent-leather  shoes 
were  posed  so  as  to  be  in  plain  view.  Thus  comfortably 
fixed,  he  bantered  the  now  wary  and  rather  impecunious 
"boys"  for  a  game  of  poker,  euchre,  seven-up,  or  anything 
to  pass  away  the  time.  George  Lockwood,  as  representing 


WINNING  AND  LOSING  21 

the  proprietors  of  the  store,  sat  on  a  ledge  below  the  shelves 
with  his  feet  braced  on  a  box  under  the  counter.  He  was 
still  smarting  from  his  discomfiture  with  Rachel  Albaugh, 
and  he  was  also  desirous  of  investigating  Dave  Sovine's 
play  without  risking  his  own  "fips"  and  "bits"  in  the 
game.  So,  after  revolving  the  matter  in  his  mind  as  he 
did  every  matter,  he  said  to  Dave,  with  a  half-sinister 
smile: 

"  Tom  Grayson  ?s  upstairs  in  Blackman's  office.  Maybe 
you  might  get  up  a  game  with  him.  He  plays  a  stiff  hand, 
and  he  a'n't  afraid  of  the  Ole  Boy  at  cards,  or  anything 
else,  for  that  matter.'7 

"  You  call  him  down,"  said  Dave,  winking  his  eye  signifi 
cantly,  and  involuntarily  disclosing  a  vein  of  exultant  devil 
try  which  made  the  cool-blooded  Lockwood  recoil  a  little ; 
however,  George  felt  that  it  would  be  a  satisfaction  to  see 
Tom's  pride  reduced. 

Lockwood  got  down  off  the  ledge  in  a  sluggish  way,  and 
walked  around  the  end  of  the  counter  to  the  stove-pipe 
which  ran  from  the  box-stove  in  the  store  up  through  the 
office  above. 

"  I  say,  Tom  !  "  he  caUed. 

"What?"  came  out  of  the  pipe. 

"Dave  Sovine  says  he  can  beat  you  at  any  game  you 
choose.  Come  down  and  try  him." 

Grayson  was  bending  over  a  law-book  with  only  a  tallow 
candle  for  light.  Studying  the  law  of  common  carriers 
was,  in  his  opinion,  dull  business  for  a  fellow  with  good 


22  THE  GRAYSOXS 

red  blood  in  his  veins.  He  heard  the  murmur  of  conversa 
tion  below,  and  for  the  last  half -hour  he  had  longed  to  put 
the  book  up  beside  its  sheepskin  companions  on  the  shelves 
and  join  the  company  in  the  store.  This  banter  decided  him. 

"  1 11  come  down  a  little  minute  and  try  just  three  games 
and  no  more,"  he  said.  Then  he  closed  the  book  with  a 
thump  and  went  down  the  outside  stairway,  which  was  the 
only  means  of  egress  from  the  law-office,  and  was  let  into 
the  back  door  of  the  store  by  George  Lockwood.  He  got 
an  empty  soap-box  and  set  it  facing  the  nail-keg  on  which 
Dave  Sovine  had  placed  himself  for  the  encounter.  A 
half -barrel  with  a  board  on  top  was  put  between  the  play 
ers,  and  served  for  table  on  which  to  deal  and  throw  the 
cards ;  the  candle  rested  on  the  rusty  box-stove  which 
stood,  winter  and  summer,  midway  between  the  counters. 
Lockwood  snuffed  the  candle  and  then,  with  an  affectation 
of  overlistlessness,  placed  himself  behind  Sovine,  so  as  to 
command  a  view  of  his  cards  and  of  all  his  motions. 

Tom  had  prudence  enough  to  insist  on  playing  for  small 
stakes  of  a  twelve-and-a-half-cent  bit  at  a  game  j  —  his 
purse  was  not  heavy  enough  for  him  to  venture  greater 
ones.  At  first  the  larger  number  of  games  fell  to  Gray- 
son,  and  his  winnings  were  considerable  to  one  who  had 
never  had  more  than  money  enough  for  his  bare  necessities. 
He  naturally  forgot  all  about  the  law  of  common  carriers 
and  the  limit  of  three  games  he  had  prescribed  himself. 

Dave  cursed  his  infernal  luck,  as  he  called  it,  and  when 
the  twelfth  round  left  Tom  about  a  dollar  ahead,  he  gave 


WINNING  AND  LOSING  23 

the  cards  a  "  Virginia  poke  "  whenever  it  came  his  turn  to 
cut  them ;  that  is  to  say,  he  pushed  one  card  out  of  the 
middle  of  the  pack,  and  put  it  at  the  back.  By  this  means 
Dave  proposed  to  "  change  the  luck,"  as  he  said ;  but 
George  Lockwood,  who  looked  over  Dave's  shoulder,  was 
not  for  a  minute  deceived  by  this  manoeuvre.  He  knew 
that  this  affectation  of  a  superstition  about  luck  and  the 
efficiency  of  poking  the  cards  was  only  a  blind  to  cover 
from  inexpert  eyes  the  real  sleight  by  which  Dave,  when 
he  chose,  could  deal  himself  strong  hands.  Even  the  Vir 
ginia  poke  did  not  immediately  bring  a  change,  and  when 
Tom  had  won  a  dozen  games  more  than  Dave,  and  so  was 
a  dollar  and  a  half  ahead,  and  had  got  his  pulses  well 
warmed  up,  Dave  manifested  great  vexation,  and  asked 
Grayson  to  increase  the  stakes  to  half  a  dollar,  so  as  to 
give  him  a  chance  to  recover  some  of  his  money  before  it 
was  time  to  quit.  Tom  consented  to  this,  and  the  proportions 
of  winnings  passed  to  the  other  side  of  the  board.  Dave 
won  sometimes  two  games  in  three,  sometimes  three  in  five, 
and  Tom  soon  found  a  serious  inroad  made  in  the  small 
fund  of  thirteen  dollars  which  he  had  earned  by  odd  jobs 
writing  and  even  by  harder  and  homelier  work.  This  money 
had  been  hoarded  toward  a  new  suit  of  clothes.  He  began 
to  breathe  hard;  he  put  up  his  hard-earned  half-dollars 
with  a  trembling  hand,  and  he  saw  them  pass  into  Sovine's 
pocket  with  a  bitter  regret ;  he  took  his  few  winnings  with 
eagerness.  Every  lost  half-dollar  represented  a  day's 
work,  and  after  every  loss  he  resolved  to  venture  but  one 


24  THE  GRAY  SONS 

more,  if  the  luck  did  not  change.  But  how  could  he  endure 
to  quit  defeated  ?  He  saw  before  him  weeks  of  regret  and 
self-reproach  5  he  felt  a  desperate  necessity  for  recovering 
his  ground.  As  the  loss  account  mounted,  his  lips  grew  dry, 
the  veins  in  his  forehead  visibly  swelled,  and  the  perspira 
tion  trickled  from  his  face.  He  tried  to  hide  his  agitation 
under  an  affectation  of  indifference  and  amusement,  but 
when  he  essayed  to  speak  careless  words  for  a  disguise,  his 
voice  was  husky  and  unsteady,  and  he  kept  swallowing, 
with  an  effort  as  though  something  in  his  throat  threatened 
him  with  suffocation.  Dave  noted  these  signs  of  distress 
in  his  adversary  with  a  sort  of  luxurious  pleasure ;  he  had 
in  him  the  instincts  of  a  panther,  and  the  suffering  inflicted 
on  another  gave  an  additional  relish  to  his  victory. 

Lockwood  watched  the  play  with  a  sharp  curiosity,  hop 
ing  to  penetrate  the  secret  of  Sovine's  skill.  He  felt,  also, 
a  certain  regret,  for  he  had  not  expected  to  see  Tom  quite 
so  severely  punished.  At  length  Tom's  last  dollar  was 
reached ;  with  a  flushed  face,  he  held  the  coin  in  his  trem 
bling  hand  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  said  bravely :  "  It 
might  as  well  go  with  the  rest,  if  I  lose  this  time,"  and  he 
laid  it  down  as  a  single  stake,  hoping  that  luck  would  favor 
him. 

When  Dave  had  pocketed  this  he  leaned  back  and  smiled 
with  that  sort  of  ruthless  content  that  a  beast  of  prey  feels 
when  he  licks  his  chops  after  having  enjoyed  a  meal  from 
his  lawful  prey. 

Tom's  losses  were  relatively  great ;  it  was  a  kind  of  small 
ruin  that  had  suddenly  overtaken  him.  A  month  of  writ- 


WINNING  AND  LOSING  25 

ing,  if  he  had  it  to  do,  would  not  have  replaced  the  money, 
nor  was  his  a  nature  that  could  easily  brook  defeat.  The 
very  courage  and  self-reliance  that  would  have  stood  him  in 
admirable  stead  in  another  kind  of  difficulty,  and  that  in 
other  circumstances  would  have  been  accounted  a  virtue, 
were  a  snare  to  him  now. 

"  Look  here,  Dave,"  he  said,  with  a  voice  choked  by  mor 
tification,  "  give  me  a  chance  to  win  a  little  of  that  back," 
and  he  laid  his  pocket-knife  on  the  table. 

"  Tom,  you  'd  better  quit,"  said  three  or  four  voices  at 
once.  But  Dave  rather  eagerly  laid  a  half-dollar  by  Tom's 
knife  and  won  the  knife.  He  liked  this  chance  to  give  a 
certain  completeness  to  the  job.  Then  Tom  laid  out  his 
silk  handkerchief,  which  he  also  lost — for  the  games  all 
went  one  way  now. 

"  Come,  Tom,  hold  on  now,"  said  the  chorus. 

But  Tom  was  in  the  torment  of  perdition.  He  glared  at 
those  who  advised  him  to  desist.  Then,  in  a  mixture  of 
stupor  and  desperation,  he  placed  his  hat  on  the  board 
against  a  dollar  and  lost  that ;  then  he  stripped  the  coat 
from  his  back  and  lost  it,  and  at  last  his  boots  went  the 
same  way.  When  these  were  gone,  having  nothing  further 
to  wager  without  consigning  himself  to  aboriginal  naked 
ness,  he  sat  in  a  kind  of  daze,  his  eyes  looking  swollen  and 
bloodshot  with  excitement. 

"  Come,  Dave,77  said  Lockwood, "  give  him  back  his  clothes. 
You  Ve  won  enough  without  taking  the  clothes  off  his  back." 

"  That  's  all  you  know  about  it,"  said  Dave,  who  noted 

every  token  of  Tom's  suffering  as  an  additional  element 
3 


26  THE   GRAY  SONS 

in  his  triumph.  "  That  may  be  your  Illinois  way,  but 
that  is  n't  the  way  we  play  in  New  Orleans.  Winnings 
is  winnings  where  I  learnt  the  game."  And  he  proceeded 
to  lay  Tom's  things  in  a  neat  pile  convenient  for  transpor 
tation. 

"Aw!  come  now,  Dave,"  said  one  and  another,  "?t  a'n't 
the  fair  thing  to  send  a  fellow  home  to  his  folks  barefooted 
and  in  his  shirt-sleeves." 

But  Dave  smiled  in  supercilious  contempt  at  this  provin 
cial  view  of  things,  and  cited  the  usages  of  the  superior 
circles  to  which  he  had  gained  admission. 

Lockwood  at  length  lent  Tom  the  money  to  redeem  his 
garments,  and  the  necessity  which  obliged  him  to  borrow 
from  the  man  who  had  got  him  into  the  scrape  was  the  bit 
terest  of  all  the  bitter  elements  in  Tom's  defeat.  He  went 
out  into  the  fresh  air  and  walked  home  mechanically.  His 
dashing,  headlong  ways  had  already  partly  alienated  his 
uncle,  and  the  only  hope  of  Tom's  retaining  his  assistance 
long  enough  to  complete  his  law  studies  lay  in  the  chance 
that  his  relative  might  fail  to  hear  of  this  last  escapade.  It 
was  clear  to  Tom  without  much  canvassing  of  the  question 
that  he  could  not  borrow  from  him  the  money  to  replace 
what  he  had  gotten  from  Lockwood  to  redeem  his  clothes. 
He  entered  the  garden  by  the  back  gate,  climbed  up  to  the 
roof  of  the  wood-shed  by  means  of  a  partition  fence,  and 
thence  managed  to  pull  himself  into  the  window  of  his 
own  chamber  as  stealthily  as  possible,  that  his  uncle's  fam 
ily  might  not  know  that  he  had  come  home  at  half-past 
twelve.  He  stood  a  long  while  in  the  breeze  at  the  open 


WINNING  AND  LOSING  27 

window  watching  the  shadows  of  clouds  drift  over  the 
moonlit  prairie,  which  stretched  away  like  a  shoreless  sea 
from  the  back  of  his  uncle's  house.  He  could  not  endure 
to  bring  his  thoughts  all  at  once  to  bear  on  his  affairs ;  he 
stood  there  uneasily  and  watched  these  flitting  black  shad 
ows  come  and  go,  and  he  gnashed  his  teeth  with  vexation 
whenever  a  full  sense  of  his  present  misery  and  his  future 
perplexities  drifted  over  him. 

He  shut  the  window  and  went  to  bed  at  last,  and  by  the 
time  daylight  arrived  he  had  turned  over  every  conceivable 
expedient.  There  was  nothing  for  him  but  to  accept  the 
most  disagreeable  of  all  of  them.  He  would  have  to  draw 
on  the  slender  purse  of  his  mother  and  Barbara,  for  Lock- 
wood's  was  a  debt  that  might  not  be  put  off,  and  he  could 
see  no  present  means  of  earning  money.  He  purposed  to 
make  some  excuse  to  go  home  again  on  Saturday.  It 
would  be  dreadful  to  meet  Barbara's  reproaches,  and  to  see 
his  mother's  troubled  face.  How  often  he  had  planned  to 
be  the  support  of  these  two,  but  he  seemed  doomed  to  be 
only  a  burden ;  he  had  dreamed  of  being  a  source  of  pride 
to  them,  but  again  and  again  he  had  brought  them  morti 
fication.  Had  he  been  less  generous  or  more  callous  he 
would  not  have  minded  it  so  much.  But  as  it  was,  his 
intolerable  misery  drove  him  to  castle-building.  He  com 
forted  himself  with  the  reflection  that  he  could  make  it  all 
right  with  the  folks  at  home  when  once  he  should  get  into 
practice.  Barbara  should  have  an  easier  time  then.  How 
often  had  he  drawn  drafts  on  the  imaginary  future  for  con 
solation  ! 


Ill 

PAYING  THE  FIDDLER 

jOU  did  n't  mean  no  harm,  Tommy,"  said  Mrs. 
Grayson,  "I  know  you  did  n't."  She  was 
jif  fumbling  in  the  drawer  of  a  clothes-press, 
:;>  built  by  the  side  of  the  chimney  in  the  sitting- 
room  of  the  Grayson  farm-house  in  Hubbard  township. 
She  kept  her  money  in  this  drawer  concealed  under  a 
collection  of  miscellaneous  articles. 

Tom  sat  looking  out  of  the  window.  Ever  since  his  gam 
bling  scrape  he  had  imagined  his  mother's  plaintive  voice 
excusing  him  in  this  way.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that 
he  had  had  to  be  pulled  out  of  disasters  produced  by  his 
own  rashness,  and  it  seemed  such  an  unmanly  thing  for 
him  to  come  home  with  his  troubles;  but  he  must  pay 
Lockwood  quickly,  lest  any  imprudent  word  of  that  not 
very  friendly  friend  should  reach  his  uncle's  ears.  Nothing 
but  the  fear  of  bringing  on  them  greater  evil  could  have 
scourged  him  into  facing  his  mother  and  sister  with  the 
story  of  his  gambling.  Once  in  their  presence,  his  wretched  ' 
face  had  made  it  evident  that  he  was  in  one  of  those  tight 

28 


PAYING   THE  FIDDLER  29 

places  which  were  ever  recurring  in  his  life.  He  made  a 
clean  breast  of  it;  your  dashing  dare-devil  fellow  has  less 
temptation  to  lie  than  the  rest  of  us.  And  now  he  had 
told  it  all, —  he  made  it  a  sort  of  atonement  to  keep  back 
nothing, —  and  he  sat  there  looking  out  of  the  window  at 
the  steady  dropping  of  a  summer  rain  which  had  pelted 
him  ever  since  he  had  set  out  from  Moscow.  He  looked 
into  the  rain  and  listened  to  the  quivering  voice  of  his  dis 
appointed  mother  as  she  rummaged  her  drawer  to  take 
enough  to  meet  his  debt  from  the  dollars  accumulated  by 
her  own  and  Barbara's  toil  and  management  —  dollars  put 
by  as  a  sinking  fund  to  clear  the  farm  of  debt.  But  most 
of  all  he  dreaded  the  time  when  Barbara  should  speak. 
She  sat  at  the  other  window  of  the  room  with  her  face  bent 
down  over  her  sewing,  which  was  pinned  to  her  dress  at 
the  knee.  She  had  listened  to  his  story,  but  she  had  not 
uttered  a  word,  and  her  silence  filled  him  with  foreboding. 
Torn  watched  the  flock  of  bedraggled  and  down-hearted 
chickens  creeping  about  under  the  eaves  of  the  porch  to 
escape  the  rain,  and  wondered  whether  it  would  not  be  bet 
ter  to  kill  himself  to  get  rid  of  himself.  His  mother  fum 
bled  long  and  irresolutely  in  the  drawer,  looking  up  to 
talk  every  now  and  then,  mostly  in  order  to  delay  as  long 
as  possible  the  painful  parting  with  her  savings. 

"I  know  you  did  n't  mean  no  harm,  Tommy;   I  know 

you  did  n't ;  but  it  's  awful  hard  on  Barb'ry  an'  me,  partin' 

with  this  money.     Dave  So  vine  's  a  wicked  wretch  to  bring 

such  trouble  on  two  women  like  us,  that  's  had  such  a 

3*  - 


30  t  THE   GRAY  SONS 

hard  time  to  git  on,  an'  nobody  left  to  work  the  place.  Out 
uv  six  children,  you  an'  Barb'ry  's  all  that 's  left  alive.  It  >s 
hard  on  a  woman  to  be  left  without  her  husband,  an'  all 
but  the  two  youngest  children  dead." 

Here  she  stopped  ransacking  the  drawer  to  wipe  her  eyes. 
She  gave  way  to  her  grief  the  more  easily  because  she  still 
lacked  resolution  to  devote  her  earnings  to  filling  up  the 
gap  made  by  Tom's  prodigality.  And  in  every  trouble  her 
mind  reverted  involuntarily  to  the  greater  tribulations  of 
her  life ;  all  rills  of  disappointment  and  all  rivers  of  grief 
led  down  to  this  great  sea  of  sorrow. 

"  You  're  the  only  two 't  's  left,  you  two.  Ef  you  M  just  keep 
out  uv  bad  comp'ny,  Tommy.  But,"  she  said,  recovering  her 
self,  "  I  know  you  7re  f eelin'  awful  bad,  an'  you  're  a  good  boy 
only  you  're  so  keerless  an'  ventersome.  You  did  n't  mean 
no  harm,  an'  you  won't  do  it  no  more,  I  know  you  won't." 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Grayson's  trembling  hands,  on  whose 
hardened  palms  and  slightly  distorted  fingers  one  might 
have  read  the  history  of  a  lifetime  of  work  and  hardship, 
had  drawn  out  a  cotton  handkerchief  in  which  were  tied  up 
thirty  great  round  cumbersome  Spanish  and  Mexican  dollars, 
with  some  smaller  silver.  This  she  took  to  a  table,  where 
she  proceeded  slowly  to  count  out  for  Tom  the  exact  amount 
he  had  borrowed  to  redeem  his  clothes, —  not  a  fi'-penny 
bit  more  did  she  spare  him. 

At  this  point  Barbara  began  to  speak.  She  raised  her 
face  from  her  work  and  drew  her  dark  eyes  to  a  sharp 
focus,  as  she  always  did  when  she  was  much  in  earnest. 


PAYING   THE  FIDDLER  31 

"  It  don't  matter  much  about  us,  Tom,"  she  said,  despond 
ently.  "  Women  are  made  to  give  up  for  men,  I  suppose. 
I  've  made  up  my  mind  a'ready  to  quit  the  school  over  at 
Timber  Creek,  though  I  do  hate  to." 

"  Yes,"  said  her  mother,  "  an7  it  's  too  bad,  fer  you  did 
like  that  new-fangled  study  of  algebray,  though  I  can't  see 
the  good  of  it." 

"  I  don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings,"  Barbara  went  on, 
"  but  maybe  it  '11  do  you  good,  Tom,  to  remember  that  I  've 
got  to  give  up  the  school,  and  it 's  my  very  last  chance,  and 
I  Ve  got  to  spin  and  knit  enough  this  winter  to  make  up  the 
money  you  've  thrown  away  in  one  night.  You  would  n't 
make  us  trouble  a-purpose  for  anything, —  I  know  that. 
And,  any  way,  we  don't  care  much  about  ourselves  ;  it  don't 
matter  about  us.  But  we  do  care  about  you.  What  '11 
happen  if  you  go  on  in  this  heels-over-head  way  ?  Uncle 
Tom  '11  never  stand  it,  you  know,  and  your  only  chance  '11 
be  gone.  That 's  what  '11  hurt  us  all  'round — to  give  up 
all  for  you,  and  then  you  make  a  mess  of  it — in  spite  of 
all  we  've  done." 

"  You  're  awful  hard  on  me,  Barb,"  said  Tom,  writhing  a 
little  in  his  chair.  "  I  wish  1 >d  made  an  end  of  myself,  as 
I  thought  of  doing,  when  I  was  done  playing  that  night." 

"There  you  are  again,"  said  Barbara,  "without  ever 
stopping  to  think.  I  suppose  you  think  it  would  have  made 
mother  and  me  feel  better  about  it,  for  you  to  kill  your 
self  ! " 

"  Don't  be  so  cuttin'  with  your  tongue,  Barb'ry,"  said  her 


32  THE  GRAY  SONS 

mother,  "  we  can  stand  it,  and  poor  Tom  did  n't  mean  to 
do  it." 

"  Pshaw ! "  said  Barbara,  giving  herself  a  shake  of  impa 
tience,  "  what  a  baby  excuse  that  is  for  a  grown-up  man  like 
Tom!  Tom's  no  fool  if  he  would  only  think;  but  he  '11  cer 
tainly  spoil  everything  before  he  conies  to  his  senses,  and 
then  we  '11  all  be  here  in  the  mud  together  ; — the  family  '11 
be  disgraced,  and  there  '11  be  no  chance  of  Tom's  getting 
on.  What  makes  me  mad  is  that  Tom  '11  sit  there  and  let 
you  excuse  him  by  saying  that  he  did  n't  mean  any  harm, 
and  then  he  11  be  just  as  gay  as  ever  by  day  after  to-mor 
row,  and  just  as  ready  to  run  into  some  new  scrape." 

"  Go  on,  Barb,  that  's  hitting  the  sore  spot,"  said  Tom, 
leaning  his  head  on  his  hand.  "  Maybe  if  you  knew  all  I 
've  gone  through,  you  'd  let  up  a  little."  Tom  thought  of 
telling  her  of  the  good  resolutions  he  had  made,  but  he  had 
done  that  on  other  occasions  like  this,  and  he  knew  that  his 
resolutions  were  by  this  time  at  a  heavy  discount  in  the 
home  market.  He  would  liked  to  have  told  Barbara  how  he 
intended  to  make  it  all  up  to  them  whenever  he  should  get 
into  a  lucrative  practice,  but  he  dreaded  to  expose  his 
cherished  dreams  to  the  nipping  frost  of  her  deadly  com 
mon  sense. 

He  looked  about  for  a  change  of  subject. 

"  Where  's  Bob  McCord  ?"  he  asked. 

"  It  was  a  rainy  day,  and  he  's  gone  off  to  the  grocery,  I 
guess,"  said  Mrs.  Grayson.  "  I  'm  afeerd  he  won't  come 
home  in  time  to  cut  us  wood  to  do  over  Sunday." 


PAYING   THE  FIDDLER  33 

Tom  had  intended  to  ride  back  to  Moscow  and  pay  his 
debt  this  very  evening.  But  here  was  a  chance  to  show 
some  little  gratitude  —  a  chance  to  make  a  beginning  of 
amendment.  He  did  not  want  to  stay  at  home,  where  the 
faces  of  his  mother  and  Barbara  and  the  pinching  economy 
of  the  household  arrangements  would  reproach  him,  but  for 
this  very  reason  he  would  remain  until  the  next  day;  it 
would  be  a  sort  of  penance,  and  any  self-imposed  suffering 
was  a  relief.  The  main  use  that  men  make  of  penitence 
and  the  wearing  of  sackcloth  is  to  restore  the  balance  of 
their  complacency.  Tom  announced  his  intention  to  see  to 
the  Sunday  wood  himself;  putting  his  uncle's  horse  in  the 
stable,  he  went  manfully  to  chopping  wood  in  the  rain  and 
attending  to  everything  else  that  would  serve  to  make  his 
mother  and  sister  more  comfortable. 


IV 
LOCKWOOD'S  PLAN 


)EORGE  LOCKWOOD,  being  only  mildly  mali 
cious,  felt  something  akin  to  compensation  at 
having  procured  for  Tom  so  severe  a  loss. 
But  he  was  before  all  things  a  man  secretive 
and  calculating;  the  first  thing  he  did  with  any  circum 
stance  was  to  take  it  into  his  intellectual  backroom,  where 
he  spent  most  of  his  time,  and  demand  what  advantage 
it  could  give  to  George  Lockwood.  When  he  had  let  all 
the  boys  out  of  the  store  at  a  quarter  past  twelve,  he 
locked  and  barred  the  door.  Then  he  put  away  the  boxes 
and  all  other  traces  of  the  company,  and  carried  his  tallow 
candle  into  his  rag-carpeted  bedroom,  which  opened  from 
the  rear  of  the  store  and  shared  the  complicated  and 
characteristic  odors  of  the  shop  with  a  dank  smell  of  its 
own  ;  this  last  came  from  a  habit  Lockwood  had  when  he 
sprinkled  the  floor  of  the  store,  preparatory  to  sweeping  it, 
of  extending  the  watering  process  to  the  rag-carpet  of  the 
bedroom.  His  mind  gave  only  a  passing  thought  of  mild 
exultation,  mingled  with  an  equally  mild  regret,  to  poor 


LOCK  WOOD'S  PLAN  35 

Tom  Grayson's  misfortune.  He  was  already  inquiring 
how  he  might,  without  his  hand  appearing  in  the  matter, 
use  the  occurrence  for  his  own  benefit.  Tom  had  had  pres 
ence  of  mind  enough  left  to  beg  the  whole  party  in  the 
store  to  say  nothing  about  the  affair ;  but  notwithstanding 
the  obligation  which  the  set  felt  to  protect  one  another  from 
the  old  fogies  of  their  families,  G-eorge  Lockwood  thought 
the  matter  would  probably  get  out.  He  was  not  the  kind  of 
a  man  to  make  any  bones  about  letting  it  out,  if  he  could 
thereby  gain  any  advantage.  The  one  feeling  in  his  tepid 
nature  that  had  ever  attained  sufficient  intensity  to  keep 
him  awake  at  night  was  his  passion  for  Rachel  Albaugh ; 
and  his  passion  was  quite  outside  of  any  interest  he  might 
have  in  Rachel's  reversionary  certainty  of  the  one-half  of 
John  Albaugh's  lands.  This,  too,  he  had  calculated,  but  as 
a  subordinate  consideration. 

He  reflected  that  Rachel  might  come  to  town  next  Satur 
day,  which  was  the  general  trading-day  of  the  country 
people.  If  she  should  come,  she  would  be  sure  to  buy 
something  of  him.  But  how  could  he  tell  her  of  Tom's  un 
lucky  gambling?  To  do  so  directly  would  be  in  opposition 
to  all  the  habits  of  his  prudent  nature.  Nor  could  he  be 
think  him  of  a  ruse  that  might  excuse  an  indirect  allusion 
to  it;  and  he  went  to  sleep  at  length  without  finding  a  solu 
tion  of  his  question. 

But  chance  favored  him,  for  with  the  Saturday  came  rain, 
and  Rachel  regretfully  gave  over  a  proposed  visit  to  the 
village.  But  as  some  of  the  things  wanted  were  quite  in- 


36  THE  GRATSONS 

dispensable,  Ike  Albaugh  was  sent  to  Moscow,  and  he  came 
into  Wooden  &  Snyder's  store  about  4  o'clock  in  the  after 
noon.  George  Lockwood  greeted  him  cordially,  and  weighed 
out  at  his  request  three  pounds  of  ten-penny  nails  to  finish 
the  new  corn-crib,  a  half-pound  of  cut  tobacco  to  replenish 
the  senior  Albaugh's  pipe  from  time  to  time,  a  dollar's 
worth  of  sugar,  and  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  Epsom  salts, — 
these  last  two  for  general  use.  He  also  measured  off  five 
yards  of  blue  cotton  drilling,  six  feet  of  half -inch  rope  for 
a  halter,  and  two  yards  of  inch-wide  ribbon  to  match  a 
sample  sent  by  Rachel.  Then  he  filled  one  of  the  Albaugh 
jugs  with  molasses  and  another  with  whisky,  which  last  was 
indispensable  in  the  hay  harvest.  These  articles  were 
charged  to  John  Albaugh's  account  j  he  was  credited  at  the 
same  time  with  the  ten  pounds  of  fresh  butter  that  Isaac 
had  brought.  George  Lockwood  also  wrapped  up  a  paper 
of  "  candy  kisses/'  as  they  were  called,  which  he  charged 
Ike  to  give  to  Rachel  from  him,  but  which  he  forgot  to 
enter  to  his  own  account  on  the  day-book. 

"  By  the  way,  Ike,"  he  said,  "  did  you  know  that  Dave 
So  vine  got  back  last  week  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Ike ;  "  I  hear  the  Sovine  folks  made  a  turri- 
ble  hullabaloo  over  the  returned  prodigal, — killed  the  fatted 
calf,  and  all  that." 

"A  tough  prodigal  lie  is  ! "  said  Lockwood,  with  a  gentle 
smile  of  indifference.  "You  'd  better  look  out  for  him." 

"Me?  Why?"  asked  Ike.  "He  never  had  any  grudge 
ag'inst  me,  as  I  know  of." 


LOCKWOOD' S  PLAN  37 

"No,"  said  Lockwood,  laughing,  "not  that.  But  he  's 
cleaned  all  the  money  out  of  all  the  boys  about  town,  and 
he  '11  be  going  after  you  country  fellows  next,  I  guess.  He 
's  the  darnedest  hand  with  cards  !  " 

"  Well,  he  won't  git  a-holt  of  me,"  said  Ike,  with  boyish 
exultation.  "I  don't  hardly  more  'n  know  the  ace  f'um 
the  jack.  I  never  played  but  on'y  just  once ;  two  or  three 
games  weth  one  of  the  harvest  hands,  four  years  ago.  He 
was  showin'  me  how,  you  know,  one  Sunday  in  the  big 
haymow,  an'  jus'  as  I  got  somethiii'  't  he  called  high  low 
jack,  the  old  man  took  't  into  his  head  to  come  up  the  lad 
der  to  see  what  was  goin'  on.  You  know  father's  folks  was 
Dunkers,  an'  he  don't  believe  in  cards.  I  got  high  low  jack 
that  time,  an'  I  won't  fergit  it  the  longest  day  I  live."  Ike 
grinned  a  little  ruefully  at  the  recollection.  "  Could  n' 
draw  on  my  roundabout  fer  a  week  without  somebody 
helpin'  me,  I  was  so  awful  sore  betwixt  the  shoulders. 
Not  any  more  fer  me,  thank  you !  " 

"  It  'u'd  be  good  for  some  other  young  fellows  I  know,  if 
they  'd  had  some  of  the  same  liniment,"  said  Lockwood, 
beginning  to  see  his  way  clear,  and  speaking  in  a  languid 
tone  with  his  teeth  half  closed.  "  Blam'd  >f  I  did  n't  see 
So  vine,  a-settin'  right  there  on  that  kag  of  sixp'uy  nails 
the  other  night,  win  all  a  fellow's  money,  and  then  his 
handkerchief  and  his  knife.  The  fellow  —  you  know  him 
well  —  got  so  excited  that  he  put  up  his  hat  and  his  coat  and 
his  boots,  an'  Dave  took  'em  all.  He 's  got  some  cheatin'  trick 
ur  'nother,  but  I  stood  right  over  'im  an'  I  can't  quite  make 
4 


38  THE   GEAYSONS 

it  out  yet.  I  tried  to  coax  'im  to  give  back  the  hat  an'  coat 
an'  boots  j  but  no,  sir,  he  's  a  regular  black-leg.  He  would 
n't  give  up  a  thing  till  I  lent  the  other  fellow  as  much 
money  as  he  ?d  staked  ag'inst  them." 

"  Who  wuz  the  other  fellow  ? "  asked  Ike  Albaugh,  with 
lively  curiosity. 

"  Oh !  I  promised  not  to  tell "  j  but  as  Lockwood  said 
this  he  made  an  upward  motion  with  his  pointed  thumb, 
and  turned  his  eyes  towards  the  office  overhead. 

"  W'y,  not  Tom  ? n  asked  Ike,  in  an  excited  whisper. 

"  Don't  you  say  anything  about  it,"  said  George,  looking 
serious.  "  He  don't  want  his  uncle's  folks  to  know  any 
thing  about  it.  And  besides,  I  have  n't  mentioned  any 
name,  you  know";  and  he  fell  into  a  playful  little  titter 
between  his  closed  teeth,  as  he  shook  his  head  secretively, 
and  turned  away  to  attend  to  a  woman  who,  in  spite  of  the 
rain,  had  brought  on  horseback  a  large  "  feed-basket "  full  of 
eggs,  and  three  pairs  of  blue  stockings  of  her  own  knitting, 
which  she  wished  to  exchange  for  a  calico  dress-pattern 
and  some  other  things. 

But  Lockwood  turned  to  call  after  the  departing  youth : 
"  You  won't  mention  that  to  anybody,  will  you,  Ike  ? " 

"  To  b'  shore  not,"  said  Ike,  as  he  went  out  of  the  door 
thinking  how  much  it  would  interest  Rachel. 

Ike  Albaugh  was  too  young  and  too  light-hearted  to  be 
troubled  with  forebodings.  Rachel  might  marry  anybody 
she  pleased  "f'r  all  of  him."  It  was  her  business,  and  she 
was  of  age,  he  reflected,  and  he  was  n't  her  "gardeeu." 


LOCK  WOOD'S  PLAN  39 

At  most,  if  it  belonged  to  anybody  to  interfere,  "  it  was  the 
ole  man's  lookout."  But  the  story  of  Tom  Grayson's  losing 
all  his  money,  and  even  part  of  his  clothes,  was  something 
interesting  to  tell,  and  it  did  not  often  happen  to  the  young 
man  to  have  the  first  of  a  bit  of  news.  A  farm-house  on 
the  edge  of  an  unsettled  prairie  is  a  dull  place,  where  all 
things  have  a  monotonous,  diurnal  revolution  and  a  larger 
annual  repetition ;  any  event  with  a  parabolic  or  hyperbolic 
orbit  which  intrudes  into  this  system  is  a  godsend;  even 
the  most  transient  shooting- star  of  gossip  is  a  relief.  But 
this  would  be  no  momentary  meteor,  and  Isaac  saw  in  the 
newly  acquired  information  something  to  "  tease  Eache 
with,"  and  teasing  one's  sister  is  always  lawful  sport.  He 
owed  her  some  good-natured  grudges ;  here  was  one  chance 
to  be  even  with  her. 

Ike  got  home  at  half-past  six,  and  Rachel  had  to  spread 
for  him  a  cold  supper,  chiefly  of  corn-bread  and  milk.  He 
gave  her  the  ribbon  and  the  little  package  of  square  candy 
kisses  from  Lockwood.  Rachel  sat  down  at  the  table 
opposite  her  hungry  brother,  and,  after  giving  him  a  part 
of  the  sweets,  she  amused  herself  with  unfolding  the  papers 
that  inclosed  each  little  square  of  candy  and  reading  the 
couplets  of  honeyed  doggerel  wrapped  within. 

"  Did  you  hear  anything  of  Tom  f "  Rachel  asked. 

"Yes." 

"What  was  it?" 

"  Oh !  I  promised  not  to  say  anything  about  it." 

"  You  need  n't  be  afraid  of  making  me  jealous,"  said  the 


40  THE   GE  AT  SONS 

sister,  with  a  good-natured,  half-defiant  setting  of  her  head 
on  one  side. 

"  Jealous  ?  No,  it  's  not  anything  like  that.  You  ain't 
good  at  guessin',  Sis  j  girls  never  air." 

"  Not  even  Ginnie  Miller,"  said  Rachel.  She  usually  met 
Ike's  hackneyed  allusions  to  the  inferiority  of  girls  by  some 
word  about  Ginnie.  It  was  plain  her  brother  was  in  a 
teasing  mood,  and  that  her  baffled  curiosity  would  not  find 
satisfaction  by  coaxing.  She  knew  well  enough  that  Ike 
was  not  such  a  fool  as  to  keep  an  interesting  secret  long 
enough  for  it  to  grow  stale  and  unmarketable  on  his  hands. 

"  Let  it  go, —  I  don't  care,"  she  said,  as  she  got  up  and 
moved  about  the  kitchen. 

"  You  would,  if  you  knew."  said  Ike. 

"  But  I  don't,  and  so  there  ?s  an  end  of  it "  ;  and  she  began 
to  hum  a  sentimental  song  of  the  languishing  sort  so  much 
in  vogue  in  that  day.  The  melancholy  refrain,  which  formed 
the  greater  part  of  this  one,  ran : 

"Long,  long  ago,  long  ago." 

It  is  one  of  the  paradoxes  of  human  nature  that  young 
women  with  all  the  world  before  them  delight  in  singing 
retrospective  melodies  about  an  auld-lang-syne  concerning 
which,  in  the  very  nature  of  the  case,  they  cannot  well 
know  anything,  but  in  regard  to  which  they  seem  to  enter 
tain  sentiments  so  distressful. 

"  It  was  n't  so  very  long  ago,  nuther,"  said  Ike,  whose 
dialect  was  always  intensified  when  there  were  harvest 
hands  on  the  place. 


LOCK  WOOD1  S  PLAN  41 

"  What  was  n't?"  said  Rachel,  with  her  back  to  him. 

"  Why,  Tom's  scrape,  of  course." 

"  Was  it  a  very  bad  one  ?  Did  he  get  took  up  ?  "  Rachel's 
face  was  still  averted,  but  Ike  noted  with  pleasure  that  her 
voice  showed  a  keen  interest  in  his  news. 

"  Oh,  no,  't  's  not  him  that  ought  to  be  took  up ;  it  's 
Dave  Sovine." 

Rachel  cleared  her  throat  and  waited  a  few  seconds  be 
fore  speaking  again. 

"  Did  Dave  hurt  Tom  much  ? "  she  asked,  groping  after 
the  facts  among  the  various  conjectures  that  suggested 
themselves. 

"  Well,  yes,"  said  Ike,  with  a  broad  grin  of  delight  at  his 
sister's  wide  guessing ;  but  by  this  time  he  was  pretty  well 
exhausted  by  the  strain  put  upon  his  feeble  secretiveness. 
"  Yes,  hurt  him  ?  I  sh'd  say  so  !  "  he  went  on.  "  Hurts  like 
blazes  to  have  a  black-leg  like  Dave  win  all  yer  money  an' 
yer  knife,  >an  yer  hankercher,  an'  yer  hat  an'  coat  an'  boots 
in  the  bargain.  But  you  mus'  n't  say  anything  about  it, 
Sis.  It 's  a  dead  secret." 

"  Who  told  you?" 

'*  Nobody,"  said  Ike,  feeling  some  compunction  that  he 
had  gone  so  far.  "  I  just  heard  it." 

"  Who  'd  you  hear  it  from  ? » 

"George  Lockwood  kind  uh  let  >t  out  without  'xactly 
sayin'  't  wuz  Tom.  But  he  did  n't  deny  it  wuz  Tom." 

Having  thus  relieved  himself  from  the  uncomfortable 

pressure  of  his  secret,  Ike  got  up  and  went  out  whistling, 
4* 


42  THE  GRAYSOXS 

leaving  Rachel  to  think  the  matter  over.  It  was  not  the 
moral  aspect  of  the  question  that  presented  itself  to  her. 
If  Tom  had  beaten  Sovine  she  would  not  have  cared.  It 
was  Tom's  cleverness  as  well  as  his  buoyant  spirit  that  had 
touched  her,  and  now  her  hero  had  played  the  fool.  She 
had  the  wariness  of  one  who  had  known  many  lovers ;  her 
wit  was  not  profound,  and  she  saw  rather  than  contrived 
the  course  most  natural  to  one  of  her  prudent  and  ease-lov 
ing  temperament ;  she  would  hold  Tom  in  check,  and  post 
pone  the  disagreeable  necessity  for  final  decision. 


THE    MITTEN 


|EXT  to  Tom's  foreboding  about  his  uncle  was 
the  dread  of  the  effect  of  his  bad  conduct  on 
Rachel.  On  that  rainy  Saturday  afternoon  he 
thought  much  about  the  possibility  of  making 
shipwreck  with  Rachel ;  and  this  led  him  to  remember  with 
a  suspicion,  foreign  to  his  temper,  the  part  that  Lockwood 
had  taken  in  his  disgrace.  By  degrees  he  transferred  much 
of  his  indignation  from  Sovine  to  George  Lockwood.  He 
resolved  to  see  Rachel  on  his  way  back  to  town,  and  if 
possible  by  a  frank  confession  to  her  to  forestall  and 
break  the  force  of  any  reports  that  might  get  abroad. 
The  bold  course  was  always  the  easiest  to  one  of  so  much 
propulsiveness.  He  remembered  that  there  was  a  "sing 
ing  as  it  was  called  in  the  country,  held  every  Sunday 
afternoon  in  the  Timber  Creek  school-house,  half-way  be 
tween  his  mother's  house  and  the  Albaugh's.  This  week 
ly  singing-school  was  attended  by  most  of  the  young 
people  of  the  neighborhood,  and  by  Rachel  Albaugh 
among  the  rest,  Tom  planned  to  stop,  as  though  by 

43 


44  THE  GHATSONS 

chance,  at  the  gathering  and  ride  home  with  the  ever 
adorable  Rachel. 

When  Tom  reached  the  school-house,  Bryant,  the  peri 
patetic  teacher  of  vocal  music,  was  standing  in  front  of  his 
class  and  leading  them  by  beating  time  with  his  rawhide 
riding-whip.  Esteeming  himself  a  leader  in  the  musical 
world,  he  was  not  restricted  to  the  methods  used  by  musi 
cians  of  greater  renown.  It  is  easy  for  ignorance  to  make 
innovation, — the  America  of  a  half  century  ago  was  seriously 
thinking  of  revising  everything  except  the  moral  law. 
While  Noah  Webster  in  Connecticut  was  proposing  single- 
handed  to  work  over  the  English  tongue  so  as  to  render  it 
suitable  to  the  wants  of  a  self-complacent  young  nation, 
other  reformers  as  far  west  as  St.  Louis  were  engaged  in 
improving  the  world's  system  of  musical  notation.  Of  the 
new  method  Bryant  was  an  ardent  propagator;  he  made 
much  of  the  fact  that  he  was  a  musical  new  light,  and 
taught  the  "  square  notes,"  a  system  in  which  the  relative 
pitch  was  not  only  indicated  by  the  position  of  the  notes 
upon  the  clef,  but  also  by  their  characteristic  shapes.  Any 
simpleton  could  here  tell  "  do  "  from  "  me  v  at  sight. 

In  the  "  Missouri  Harmonist "  the  lines  and  spaces  were 
decorated  with  quavers  and  semi-quavers  whose  heads  were 
circles,  squares,  and  triangles ;  Old  Hundred  becoming  a 
solemn  procession  of  one-legged  and  no-legged  geometric 
figures.  But  Bryant  understood  his  business  too  well  to 
confine  his  Sunday  classes  of  young  people  to  Sunday 
tunes.  When  Tom,  after  tying  his  horse  to  the  inner  cor- 


THE  MITTEN  45 

ner  of  a  rail-fence,  pushed  back  the  school-house  door, 
creaking  on  its  wooden  hinges,  the  four  divisions  of  the 
class  were  chasing  one  another  through  a  "  round/7  the 
words  of  which  ran : 

"  Now,  Lawrence,  take  your  bag, 

And  go  right  straight  to  mill, 
And  see,  m  — y  b  —  o  —  y, 

That  not  a  bit  you  spill ! " 

This  kind  of  music  was  naturally  popular.  Such  a  serv 
ice  relieves  the  tedium  of  a  Sunday  afternoon,  and  has  some 
thing  of  the  charm  a  dog  finds  in  pursuing  his  own  tail. 

Some  of  the  members  of  the  class  turned  their  heads  and 
their  vocal  mouths  towards  the  door  when  Tom  came  in, 
but  in  the  midst  of  this  jangle  of  voices  singing  different 
portions  of  the  same  air  most  of  them  had  all  they  could  do 
to  keep  their  time  by  waving  their  heads  or  thumping  their 
toes  on  the  puncheon  floor,  while  they  alternately  looked  at 
their  books  and  at  Bryant,  who  thrashed  away  with  his 
whip,  his  lips  seeming  to  say,  though  the  words  were  inaudi 
ble  in  the  general  din  : 

"  Up,  down,  right,  left,  up,"  as  he  perpetually  made  right 
angles  in  the  air.  Rachel  was  in  the  act  of  drawing  the 
word  "boy"  to  the  full  length  of  a  long  note  with  a  hold 
after  it,  but  she  looked  up  long  enough  to  recognize  the 
new  arrival ;  then  she  dropped  her  eyes  to  the  book  again 
and  gave  the  most  severe  attention  to  Bryant  and  the  square 
notes  thereafter,  not  once  looking  at  Tom  to  the  end.  From 
this  unwonted  absorption  in  her  music,  Tom  inferred  that 


46  THE  GRAY  SONS 

Rachel  had  somehow  heard  of  his  misconduct  and  was 
offended.  But  her  charms  enchanted  him  more  than  ever 
now  that  they  were  receding  from  him,  and  with  a  charac 
teristic  resolution  he  determined  not  to  give  her  up  without 
a  sharp  endeavor  to  regain  his  lost  ground. 

When  the  " singing"  "let  out/'  Tom  availed  himself  of 
the  first  moment  of  confusion,  while  Rachel  stood  apart,  to 
ask  permission  to  go  home  with  her,  in  the  well-worn 
formula  which  was  the  only  polite  and  proper  word  to  use 
for  the  purpose  ;  for  it  is  strange  how  rigidly  certain  exact 
forms  were  adhered  to  among  people  where  intercourse  was 
for  the  most  part  familiar  and  unconventional. 

"  May  I  see  you  safe  home  ? "  he  asked,  as  he  had  often 
asked  before,  but  never  before  with  trepidation. 

"  No/7  said  Rachel,  with  an  evident  effort,  and  without 
looking  at  Tom's  face. 

Such  an  answer  is  technically  known  as  "  the  sack  "  and 
"  the  mitten,"  though  it  would  take  a  more  inventive  anti 
quary  than  I  to  tell  how  it  got  these  epithets.  But  it  was 
one  of  the  points  on  which  the  rural  etiquette  of  that  day 
was  rigorous  and  inflexible,  that  such  a  refusal  closed  the 
conversation  and  annihilated  the  beau  without  allowing 
him  to  demand  any  explanations  or  to  make  any  further 
advances  at  the  time.  Tom  was  not  of  the  sort  easily 
snuffed  out.  He  had  to  ride  past  RacheFs  house,  and  it 
would  be  an  addition  to  his  disappointment  that  everybody 
would  see  his  discomfiture.  So  he  answered. 

"  Well,  I  '11  lead  up   your  horse  for  you  anyhow,"  and 


THE  MITTEN  47 

he  went  out  before  she  could  make  up  her  mind  to  refuse 
him,  and  brought  the  sorrel  filly  alongside  a  tree-stump 
left  standing  in  front  of  the  school-house  for  a  horse 
block.  The  rest  had  by  this  time  either  mounted  and 
gone,  or  were  walking  away  afoot.  Rachel  felt  a  secret 
admiration  for  his  audacity  as  she  sprang  into  her  saddle, 
while  Tom  held  her  bridle  and  adjusted  the  stirrup  to  her 
foot. 

"What  have  I  done,  Rachel?" 

"You  know,  well  enough."  Her  voice  was  low  and 
tremulous.  She  had  dismissed  other  favorites,  but  never 
before  had  she  found  in  herself  so  much  reluctance. 

"  Do  you  mean  my  gambling  with  Dave  Sovine  ? "  said 
Tom,  driving,  as  usual,  point-blank  at  the  very  center  of 
things. 

"Yes." 

"Who  told  you?"  He  still  held  on  to  her  bridle-rein 
with  his  left  hand, —  somewhat  as  a  highwayman  does  in 
romances. 

"  Oh !  I  guess  everybody  knows.  Ike  heard  it  yesterday, 
from  George  Lockwood  or  somebody." 

"  It  was  Lockwood  got  me  into  it,"  said  Tom,  shutting 
his  teeth  hard.  "  If  you  'd  let  me  go  home  with  you,  I 
could  explain  things  a  little." 

But  those  who  are  enervated  by  the  balmy  climate  of 
flattery  naturally  dread  a  stiff  breeze  of  ridicule.  Rachel 
Albaugh  did  not  like  to  bear  any  share  of  the  odium  that 
must  come  on  Tom  when  his  recklessness,  and,  above  all,  his 


48  THE   GRAY  SONS 

bad  luck,  should  become  known.  She  drew  the  rein  that 
Tom  held,  until  he  felt  obliged  to  let  it  go,  and  said  "No." 

"I  have  got  what  I  needed,"  said  Tom,  making  the  best 
of  his  defeat. 

"What!  "asked  Rachel. 

"  Oh  !  one  mitten  is  n't  of  any  use  alone  j  you  Ve  given 
me  a  pair  of  them." 

Tom  felt  now  the  exhilaration  of  desperation.  He  gayly 
mounted  his  horse,  and  bade  Rachel  a  cheerful  good-bye 
as  he  galloped  past  her;  then,  when  he  had  overtaken  a 
group  of  those  ahead  of  Rachel,  he  reined  up  and  turned  in 
the  saddle,  leaning  his  left  hand  on  the  croup,  while  he 
joked  and  bantered  with  one  and  another.  Then  he  put  his 
horse  into  a  gallop  again. 

When  he  was  well  out  of  hearing,  Henry  Miller,  who  was 
one  of  the  party,  remarked  to  his  companions  that  he  did 
n't  know  what  was  up,  but  it  seemed  to  him  as  though  Tom 
Grayson  had  got  something  that  looked  like  a  mitten  with 
out  any  thumb.  "  That  's  one  more  that  Rache  >s  shed,"  he 
remarked.  "But  when  she  gets  a  chance  to  shed  me 
she  '11  know  it." 

As  Tom  rode  onward  toward  the  village  his  spirits  sank 
again,  and  he  let  his  horse  break  down  into  an  easy  trot  and 
then  into  a  slow  walk. 

It  was  no  longer  Sovine  that  he  cursed  inwardly.  George 
Lock  wood,  he  reflected,  had  called  him  away  from  the  Law 
of  Common  Carriers  to  play  a  little  game  with  Dave,  and 
it  was  Lockwood  who  had  reported  his  discomfiture  to  the 


THE  MITTEN  49 

Albaughs.  He  put  these  things  together  by  multiplication 
rather  than  by  addition,  and  concluded  that  Lockwood, 
from  the  first,  had  planned  his  ruin  in  order  to  destroy 
his  chances  with  Rachel,  which  was  giving  that  mediocre 
young  man  credit  for  a  depth  of  forethinking  malice  he  was 
far  from  possessing. 

Monday  morning  Tom  went  into  Wooden  &  Snyder's 
store  on  the  way  to  his  office  above.  Lock  wood  had  just 
finished  sweeping  out ;  the  sprinkling  upon  the  floor  was 
not  dry  ;  it  yet  showed  the  figure  8s  which  he  had  made  in 
swinging  the  sprinkler  to  and  fro  as  he  walked.  The  only 
persons  in  the  store  were  two  or  three  villagers ;  the  country 
people  rarely  came  in  on  Monday,  and  never  at  so  early  an 
hour.  One  frisky  young  man  of  a  chatty  temperament  had 
stopped  to  exchange  the  gossip  of  the  morning  with  George ; 
but  meaning  to  make  his  halt  as  slight  as  possible,  he  had 
not  gone  farther  than  the  threshold,  on  which  he  now 
balanced  himself,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  talking  as 
he  rocked  nervously  to  and  fro,  like  a  bird  on  a  waving 
bough  in  a  wind.  Another  villager  had  slouched  in  to  buy 
a  pound  of  nails,  with  which  to  repair  the  damage  done  to 
his  garden  fence  by  the  pigs  during  Sunday ;  but  as  he  was 
never  in  a  hurry,  he  stood  back  and  gave  the  first  place  to 
a  carpenter  who  wanted  a  three-cornered  file,  and  who  was 
in  haste  to  get  to  his  day's  work.  When  Lockwood  had 
attended  to  the  carpenter,  Tom  beckoned  him  to  the  back 
part  of  the  store,  and  without  saying  a  word  counted  out 
to  him  the  money  he  had  borrowed. 


50  THE  GE  AT  SONS 

Something  in  Tom's  manner  gave  Lockwood  a  sneaking 
feeling  that  his  own  share  in  this  affair  was  not  creditable. 
His  was  one  of  those  consciences  that  take  their  cue  from 
without.  Of  independent  moral  judgment  he  had  little ;  but 
he  had  a  vague  desire  to  stand  well  in  the  judgment  of 
others,  and  even  to  stand  well  in  his  own  eyes  when  judged 
by  other  people's  code.  It  was  this  half-evolved  conscience 
that  made  him  wish — what  shall  I  say?  —  to  atone  for  the 
harm  he  had  but  half -intentionally  done  to  Tom?  or,  to 
remove  the  unfavorable  impression  that  Tom  evidently  had 
of  his  conduct?  At  any  rate,  when  he  had  taken  his 
money  again,  he  ventured  to  offer  some  confidential  advice 
in  a  low  tone.  For  your  cool  man  who  escapes  the  pitfalls 
into  which  better  and  cleverer  men  often  go  headlong  is 
prone  to  rank  his  worldly  wisdom,  and  even  his  sluggish 
temperament,  among  the  higher  virtues.  Some  trace  of 
this  relative  complacency  made  itself  heard  perhaps  in  Lock- 
wood's  voice,  when  he  said  in  an  undertone  : 

"  You  know,  Tom,  if  I  were  you,  I  'd  take  a  solemn  oath 
never  to  touch  a  card  again.  You  7re  too  rash." 

This  good  counsel  grated  on  the  excited  feelings  of  the 
recipient  of  it. 

"  I  don't  want  any  advice  from  you,"  said  Tom  in  a  bit 
ter  monotone. 

I  have  heard  it  mentioned  by  an  expert  that  a  super 
heated  steam-boiler  is  likely  to  explode  with  the  first  escape 
of  steam,  the  slight  relief  of  pressure  precipitating  the  catas 
trophe.  Tom  had  resolved  not  to  speak  a  word  to  Lock- 


THE  MITTEN  51 

wood,  but  his  wounded  and  indignant  pride  had  brooded 
over  Rachel's  rejection  the  livelong  night,  and  now  the  air 
of  patronage  in  Lockwood  drew  from  him  this  beginning ; 
then  his  own  words  aggravated  his  feelings,  and  speech 
became  an  involuntary  explosion. 

"  You  called  me  down-stairs,"  he  said,  "  and  got  me  into 
this  scrape.  Do  you  think  I  don't  know  what  it  was  for  ? 
You  took  pains  to  have  word  about  it  go  where  it  would  do 
me  the  most  harm." 

"  I  did  n't  do  any  such  thing,"  said  Lockwood. 

"  You  did,"  said  Tom.  "  You  told  Ike  Albaugh  Satur 
day.  You  're  a  cold-blooded  villain,  and  if  you  cross  my 
path  again  I  '11  shoot  you." 

By  this  time  he  was  talking  loud  enough  for  all  in  the 
store  to  hear.  The  villager  who  wanted  nails  had  sidled  a 
little  closer  to  the  center  of  the  explosion,  the  young  man 
tilting  to  and  fro  on  the  threshold  of  the  front  door  had 
come  inside  the  store  and  was  deeply  engaged  in  studying 
the  familiar  collection  of  pearl  buttons,  colored  sewing- 
silks,  ribbons,  and  other  knick-knacks  in  the  counter  show 
case,  while  the  carpenter  had  forgotten  his  haste,  and  turning 
about  stood  now  with  his  tool-box  under  his  arm,  looking 
at  Tom  Grayson  and  Lockwood  with  blunt  curiosity. 

"  That  's  a  nice  way  to  treat  me,  I  must  say,"  said  Lock- 
wood,  in  a  kind  of  whine  of  outraged  friendship.  "  You  'd  'a7 
gone  home  bareheaded  and  in  your  shirt-sleeves  and  your 
stocking-feet,  if  't  had  n't  'a'  been  fer  me." 

"  I  'd  'a'  gone  home  with  my  money  in  my  pocket,  if  you 


52  THE   GRAY  SONS 

and  Dave  Sovine  had  n't  fixed  it  up  between  you  to  fleece 
me.  I  'xpect  you  made  as  much  out  of  it  as  Dave  did.  You 
?ve  got  me  out  ?v  your  way  now.  But  you  look  out !  Don't 
you  cross  my  track  again,  George  Lockwood,  or  1 '11  kill  you ! n 

In  a  new  country,  where  life  is  full  of  energy  and  effer 
vescence,  it  is  much  easier  for  an  enraged  man  to  talk  about 
killing  than  it  is  in  a  land  of  soberer  thinking  and  less  law 
lessness.  The  animal  which  we  call  a  young  man  was  not 
so  tame  in  Illinois  two  generations  ago  as  it  is  now.  But 
Tom's  threat,  having  given  vent  to  his  wrath,  lowered  the 
pressure :  by  the  time  he  had  made  this  second  speech  his 
violence  had  partly  spent  itself,  and  he  became  conscious 
that  he  was  heard  by  the  three  persons  in  the  store,  as  well  as 
by  Snyder,  the  junior  proprietor,  who  stood  now  in  the  back 
door.  Tom  Grayson  turned  and  strode  out  of  the  place,  dimly 
aware  that  he  had  again  run  the  risk  of  bringing  down  the 
avalanche  by  his  rashness.  For  if  Tom  was  quickly  brought 
to  a  white-heat,  radiation  was  equally  rapid.  Long  before 
noon  he  saw  clearly  that  he  had  probably  rendered  it  im 
possible  to  keep  the  secret  of  his  gambling  from  his  uncle. 
All  the  town  would  hear  of  his  quarrel  with  Lockwood,  and 
all  the  town  would  set  itself  to  know  to  the  utmost  the  inci 
dent  that  was  the  starting-point  of  a  wrath  so  violent. 

If  Tom  had  not  known  by  many  frosty  experiences  his 
uncle's  unimpressionable  temper,  he  would  have  followed  his 
instinct  and  gone  directly  to  him  with  a  frank  confession. 
But  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  such  a  course  with 
such  a  man. 


VI 

UNCLE  AND  NEPHEW 

HOMAS  GRAYSON  the  elder  was  one  of  those 
men  who  contrive  to  play  an  important  part 
in  a  community  without  having  any  specific 
vocation.  He  had  a  warehouse  in  which  space 
was  sometimes  let  for  the  storage  of  other  people's  goods, 
but  which  also  served  to  hold  country  produce  whenever, 
in  view  of  a  probable  rise  in  the  market,  he  chose  to  enter 
the  field  as  a  cash  buyer  in  competition  with  the  "  store 
keepers,"  who  bought  only  in  exchange  for  goods.  Some 
times,  in  the  fall  and  the  winter,  he  would  purchase  hogs 
and  cattle  from  the  farmers  and  have  them  driven  to  the 
most  promising  market.  He  also  served  the  purpose  of 
a  storage  reservoir  in  the  village  trade  ;  for  he  always  had 
money  or  credit,  and  whenever  a  house,  or  a  horse,  or  a 
mortgage,  or  a  saw-mill,  or  a  lot  of  timber,  or  a  farm,  or  a 
stock  of  goods  was  put  on  the  market  at  forced  sale,  Gray- 
son  the  elder  could  be  counted  on  to  buy  it  if  no  better 
purchaser  were  to  be  found.  He  had  no  definite  place  of 
business;  he  was  generally  to  be  found  about  the  street, 

5. 


54  THE   GRATSONS 

ready  to  buy  or  sell,  or  to  exchange  one  thing  for  another, 
whenever  there  was  a  chance  to  make  a  profit. 

He  had  married  late ;  and  even  in  marrying  he  took  care 
to  make  a  prudent  investment.  His  wife  brought  a  con 
siderable  addition  to  his  estate  and  no  unduly  expensive 
habits.  Like  her  husband,  she  was  of  a  thrifty  disposition 
and  plain  in  her  tastes.  The  temptations  to  a  degree  of 
ostentation  are  stronger  in  a  village  than  in  a  city,  but  Mrs. 
Grayson  was  not  moved  by  them  ;  she  lent  herself  to  her 
husband's  ambition  to  accumulate.  Not  that  the  Graysons 
were  without  pride  j  they  thought,  indeed,  a  good  deal  of 
their  standing  among  their  neighbors.  But  it  was  gratify 
ing  to  them  to  know  that  the  village  accounted  Grayson  a 
good  deal  better  off  than  some  who  indulged  in  a  larger 
display.  The  taking  of  Tom  had  been  one  of  those  eco 
nomic  combinations  which  men  like  Grayson  are  fond  of 
making.  He  knew  that  his  neighbors  thought  he  ought  to 
do  something  for  his  brother's  family.  To  pay  the  debt  on 
the  farm  would  be  the  simplest  way  of  doing  this,  but  it 
would  be  a  dead  deduction  from  the  ever-increasing  total 
of  his  assets.  When,  however,  Barbara  had  come  to  him 
with  a  direct  suggestion  that  he  should  help  her  promising 
brother  to  a  profession,  the  uncle  saw  a  chance  to  discharge 
the  obligation  which  the  vicarious  sentiment  of  his  neighbors 
and  the  censure  of  his  own  conscience  imposed  on  him,  and 
to  do  it  with  advantage  to  himself.  He  needed  somebody 
"to  do  choores"  at  his  house;  the  wood  had  to  be  sawed, 
the  cow  had  to  be  milked,  the  horse  must  be  fed,  and  the 


UNCLE  AND  NEPHEW  65 

garden  attended  to.  Like  most  other  villagers,  Gray  son 
had  been  wont  to  look  after  such  things  himself,  but  as  his 
wealth  and  his  aifairs  increased,  he  had  found  the  chores  a 
burden  on  his  time  and  some  detraction  from  his  dignity. 
So  he,  therefore,  took  his  namesake  into  his  house  and  sent 
him  to  the  village  school  for  three  years,  and  then  put  him 
into  the  office  of  Lawyer  Blackman,  to  whom  he  was  wont 
to  intrust  his  conveyancing  and  law  business.  This  law 
business  entailed  a  considerable  expense,  and  Thomas  Gray- 
son  the  elder  may  have  seen  more  than  a  present  advantage 
in  having  his  nephew  take  up  the  profession  under  his  pro 
tection.  But  the  young  man's  unsteadiness,  late  hours, 
and  impulsive  rashness  had  naturally  been  very  grievous 
to  a  cool-headed  speculator  who  never  in  his  life  had  suf 
fered  an  impulse  or  a  sentiment  to  obstruct  his  enterprises. 
Of  domestic  life  there  was  none  in  the  house  of  Thomas 
Grayson,  unless  one  should  give  that  name  to  sleeping  and 
waking,  cooking  and  eating,  cleaning  the  house  and  casting 
up  accounts.  With  his  wife  Grayson  talked  about  the 
diverse  speculations  he  had  in  hand  or  in  prospect,  and 
canvassed  his  neighbors  chiefly  on  the  business  side  of  their 
lives,  pleasing  his  pride  of  superior  sagacity  in  pointing  out 
the  instances  in  which  they  had  failed  to  accomplish  their 
ends  from  apathy  or  sheer  blundering.  The  husband  and 
wife  had  no  general  interest  in  anything ;  no  playful  ban- 
ter,  no  interesting  book,  no  social  assemblage  or  cheerful 
game  ever  ameliorated  the  austerity  of  their  lives.  The 
one  thread  of  sentiment  woven  into  their  stone-colored 


56  THE  GRATSONS 

existence  was  a  passionate  fondness  for  their  only  child 
Janet,  a  little  thing  five  years  old  when  Tom  came  into  the 
house  to  do  chores  and  go  to  school, — a  child  of  seven  now 
that  Tom  was  drifting  into  trouble  that  threatened  to  end 
his  professional  career  before  it  had  been  begun.  Janet 
was  vivacious  and  interesting  rather  than  pretty,  though 
her  mass  of  dark  hair,  contrasting  with  a  fair  skin  and 
blue  eyes,  made  her  appearance  noticeable.  Strict  in  their 
dealings  with  themselves  and  severe  with  others,  Janet's 
father  and  mother  did  not  know  how  to  refuse  her  any 
thing;  she  had  grown  up  willful  and  a  little  overbearing; 
but  she  was  one  of  those  children  of  abundant  imagination 
and  emotion  that  sometimes,  as  by  a  freak  of  nature,  are 
born  to  commonplace  parents.  Those  who  knew  her  were 
prone  to  say  that  "  the  child  must  take  back  " ;  for  people 
had  observed  this  phenomenon  of  inheritance  from  remote 
ancestors  and  given  it  a  name  long  before  learned  men 
discovered  it  and  labeled  it  atavism. 

A  fellow  like  Tom,  full  of  all  sorts  of  impetuosities,  could 
not  help  being  in  pretty  constant  conflict  with  his  uncle  and 
aunt.  On  one  pretext  or  another  he  contrived  to  escape  from 
the  restraints  of  the  house,  and  to  spend  his  evenings  in  such 
society  as  a  village  offers.  A  young  man  may  avoid  the 
temptations  of  a  great  city,  where  there  are  many  circles  of 
association  to  choose  from ;  but  in  a  village  where  there  is 
but  one  group,  and  where  all  the  youth  are  nearly  on  a 
level,  demoralization  is  easier.  Tom  had  a  country  boy's 
appetite  for  companionship  and  excitement;  he  had  no 


UNCLE  AND  NEPHEW  57 

end  of  buoyaut  spirits  aiid  cordial  friendliness;  and  he 
was  a  good  teller  of  amusing  stories, —  so  that  he  easily 
came  to  be  a  leader  in  all  the  frolics  and  freaks  of  the 
town.  His  uncle  administered  some  severe  rebukes  and 
threatened  graver  consequences ;  but  rebukes  and  threats 
served  only  to  add  the  spice  of  peril  to  Tom's  adventures. 

The  austerity  of  acquisitiveness  is  more  tedious  to  others, 
perhaps,  than  the  austerity  of  religious  conviction.  To  a 
child  like  Janet,  endowed  with  passion  and  imagination, 
the  grave  monotony  of  the  Grayson  household  was  almost 
unbearable.  From  the  moment  of  Tom's  coming  she  had 
clung  to  him,  rejoicing  in  his  boyish  spirits,  and  listening 
eagerly  to  his  fund  of  stories,  which  were  partly  made  up 
for  her  amusement,  and  partly  drawn  from  romances  which 
he  had  somewhat  surreptitiously  read.  When  he  was  away, 
Janet  watched  for  his  return ;  she  romped  with  him  in  de 
fiance  of  the  stiff  proprieties  of  the  house,  and  she  followed 
him  at  his  chores.  She  cherished  a  high  admiration  for 
his  daring  and  rebellious  spirit,  often  regretting  that  she 
was  not  a  boy :  it  would  be  fine  to  climb  out  of  a  bedroom 
window  at  night  to  get  away  to  some  forbidden  diversion  ! 
On  the  other  hand,  the  unselfish  devotion  of  Tom  to  the 
child  was  in  strange  contrast  with  the  headlong  willfulness 
of  his  character.  He  made  toys  and  planned  surprises  for 
her,  and  he  was  always  ready  to  give  up  his  time  to  her 
pleasure. 

It  is  hardly  likely  that  Grayson  would  have  borne  with 
his  nephew  a  single  year  if  it  had  not  been  for  Janet's 


58  THE   G  RAT  SOS  S 

attachment  to  him.  More  than  once,  when  his  patience 
was  clean  tired  out,  he  said  to  his  wife  something  to  this 
effect : 

"  I  think,  Charlotte,  I  '11  have  to  send  Tom  back  to  his 
mother.  He  gets  nothing  but  mischief  here  in  town,  and 
he  worries  me  to  death." 

To  which  Mrs.  Grayson  would  reply  :  "  Just  think  of 
Janet.  I  'm  afraid  she  'd  pine  away  if  Tom  was  sent  off. 
The  boy  is  kind  to  her,  and  I  ?m  sure  that's  one  good  thing 
about  him." 

This  consideration  had  always  settled  the  question ;  for 
the  two  main  purposes  of  life  with  Grayson  and  his  wife 
were  to  accumulate  property  and  to  gratify  every  wish  of 
their  child.  Having  only  one  sentiment,  it  had  acquired  a 
tremendous  force. 


VII 
LOCKWOOD'S  REVENGE 

HEN  Tom,  after  his  violent  speech  on  that 
unlucky  Monday  morning,  had  gone  out  of 
Wooden  &  Snyder's  store,  George  Lockwood 
turned  to  Snyder,  the  junior  partner,  and  said, 
with  his  face  a  little  flushed : 

"  What  a  fool  that  boy  is,  anyhow !  He  came  in  here 
the  other  night  after  the  store  was  shut  up  and  played 
cards  with  Dave  So  vine  till  he  lost  all  the  money  he  had.  I 
tried  my  best  to  stop  him,  but  I  could  n't  do  it.  He  went 
on  and  bet  all  the  clo'es  he  could  spare  and  lost  'em.  I  had 
to  lend  him  the  money  to  get  'em  back.  It  seems  Tom's 
girl — John  Albaugh's  daughter — heard  of  it,  and  now  he 
will  have  it  that  I  went  in  partnership  with  Sovine  to  get 
his  money,  and  that  I  wanted  to  get  Rachel  Albaugh  away 
from  'im/' 

"You  ought  n't  to  have  any  card-playing  here,"  said 
Snyder. 

"  I  told  the  boys  then  that  if  they  come  in  here  again 
they  must  n't  bring  any  cards.'' 


n 


60  •  THE   GRAY  SONS 

"  Tom  's  a  fool  to  threaten  you  that  way.  You  could 
bind  him  over  on  that,  I  suppose/'  said  Snyder. 

"  I  s'pose  I  could/'  said  George. 

But  he  did  nothing  that  day.  He  prided  himself  on 
being  a  man  that  a  body  could  n't  run  over,  but  he  had  his 
own  way  of  resisting  aggression;  he  was  not  Esau,  but 
Jacob.  He  could  not  storm  and  threaten  like  Tom ;  there 
was  no  tempest  in  him.  Cold  venom  will  keep,  and  Lock- 
wood's  resentments  did  not  lose  their  strength  by  exposure 
to  the  air.  The  day  after  Tom's  outburst,  Lockwood,  hav 
ing  taken  time  to  consider  the  alternatives,  suggested  to 
Snyder,  that  while  he  was  n't  afraid  of  Tom,  there  was  no 
knowing  what  such  a  hot-head  might  do.  Lockwood  pro 
fessed  an  unwillingness  to  bind  Tom  over  to  keep  the  peace, 
but  thought  some  influence  might  be  brought  to  bear  on 
him  that  would  serve  the  purpose.  Snyder  proposed  that 
Lockwood  should  go  to  see  Tom's  uncle,  but  George 
objected.  That  would  only  inflame  Tom  and  make  mat 
ters  worse.  Perhaps  Snyder  would  see  Blackman,  so 
that  Lockwood  need  not  appear  in  the  matter?  Then 
Blackman  could  speak  to  Grayson  the  elder,  if  he  thought 
best. 

The  calculating  temper,  and  the  touch  of  craftiness,  pli 
ancy,  and  tact  in  Lockwood  served  the  ends  of  his  employers 
in  many  ways,  and  Snyder  was  quite  willing  to  put  his  clerk 
under  obligations  of  friendship  to  him.  Therefore,  when 
he  saw  Tom  go  out  of  the  office,  Snyder  mounted  the  stairs 
and  had  an  interview  with  Blackman.  As  the  lawyer  was 


LOCKIVOO&S  REVENGE  61 

intrusted  with  all  the  bad  debts  and  pettifogging  business 
of  Wooden  &  Snyder,  any  suggestion  from  a  member  of 
the  firm  was  certain  to  receive  attention.  Snyder  told  the 
lawyer  that  Lockwood  did  n't  want  to  drag  Tom  before  a 
squire,  and  suggested  that  Blackmail  could  settle  it  by  get 
ting  the  uncle  to  give  the  fellow  a  good  admonition.  He 
offered  the  suggestion  as  though  it  were  quite  on  his  own 
motion,  he  having  overheard  Tom's  threat.  The  hand  of 
George  Lockwood  was  concealed;  but  it  was  only  Lock- 
wood  who  knew  how  exceedingly  vulnerable  Tom's  fortunes 
were  on  the  side  of  his  relations  with  his  uncle.  That  even 
ing  Blackman  sat  in  Gray  son's  sitting-room.  He  was  a 
man  with  grayish  hair,  of  middle  height,  and  rather  too  lean 
to  fill  up  his  clothes,  which  hung  on  his  frame  rather  than 
fitted  it;  and  if  one  regarded  his  face,  there  seemed  too 
little  substance  to  quite  fill  out  his  skin,  which  was  not 
precisely  wrinkled,  but  rather  wilted.  Grayson  had  turned 
around  in  his  writing-chair  and  sat  with  one  leg  over  the 
arm,  but  Blackman  had  probably  never  lolled  in  his  life  : 
he  was  possessed  by  a  sort  of  impotent  uneasiness  that  sim 
ulated  energy  and  diligence.  He  sat,  as  was  his  wont,  on 
the  front  rail  of  the  chair-seat,  as  though  afraid  to  be  com 
fortable,  and  he  held  in  his  hand  a  high  hat  half  full  of 
papers,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  lawyers  of  that  day, 
who  carried  on  their  heads  that  part  of  their  business  which 
they  could  not  carry  in  them.  Blackman  told  the  story  of 
Tom's  gambling  as  he  had  heard  it,  and  of  his  threatening 

Lockwood,  while  the  brows  of  Tom's  uncle  visibly  darkened. 
6 


62  THE  GRAY  SONS 

Then  the  lawyer  came  to  what  he  knew  would  seem  to 
Grayson  the  vital  point  in  the  matter. 

"You  know,"  he  said,  "if  George  Lockwood  was  a-mind 
to,  he  could  bind  Tom  to  keep  the  peace ;  though  I  don't 
s'pose  Tom  meant  anything  more  than  brag  by  talking 
that  way.  But  it  would  n't  be  pleasant  for  you  to  have 
Tom  hauled  up,  and  to  have  to  go  his  bail.  I  told  Snyder 
I  thought  you  could  fix  it  up  without  going  before  the 
squire."  Blackman  passed  his  heavily  laden  hat  from  his 
right  hand  to  his  left,  and  then  with  the  right  he  nervously 
reached  up  his  stiff,  rusty  hair,  which  he  habitually  kept 
standing  on  end.  After  which  he  took  a  red  silk  handker 
chief  from  his  hat  and  wiped  his  face,  while  Grayson  got 
up  and  walked  the  floor. 

"I  should  n't  like  to  have  to  go  anybody's  bail,"  said 
the  latter  after  awhile j  "it  's  against  my  principles  to  go 
security.  I  suppose  the  best  thing  would  be  to  send  him 
back  to  the  country  to  cool  off." 

Blackman  nodded  a  kind  of  half  assent,  but  did  not  vent 
ure  any  further  expression  of  opinion.  He  rose  and  depos 
ited  his  silk  handkerchief  in  a  kind  of  coil  on  the  papers  in 
his  hat,  and  then  bent  his  head  forward  and  downward  so 
as  to  put  on  the  hat  without  losing  its  contents ;  once  it 
was  in  place  he  brought  his  head  to  a  perpendicular  posi 
tion,  so  that  all  the  mass  of  portable  law  business  settled 
down  on  the  handkerchief,  which  acted  as  a  cushion  between 
Blackrnan's  affairs  and  his  head. 

Tom  came  in  as  Blackman  went  out,  and  something  in 


LOCKWOOD'S  BB7ENQE  63 

the  manner  of  the  latter  gave  him  a  feeling  that  he  had 
been  the  subject  of  conversation  between  the  lawyer  and 
his  uncle.  He  went  directly  to  his  room,  and  debated 
within  himself  whether  or  not  he  should  go  down  and 
interrupt  by  a  frank  and  full  confession  the  discussion 
which  he  thought  was  probably  taking  place  between  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Grayson.  But  knowing  his  uncle's  power  of  pas 
sive  resistance,  he  debated  long  —  so  long  that  it  came  to 
be  too  late,  and  he  went  to  bed,  resolved  to  have  the  first 
of  it  with  his  uncle  in  the  morning. 

There  was  a  very  serious  conference  between  the  two 
members  of  the  Grayson  firm  that  evening.  Mrs.  Grayson 
again  presented  to  her  husband  the  consideration  that,  if 
Tom  should  go  away,  she  did  n't  see  what  she  was  to  do 
with  Janet.  The  child  would  cry  her  eyes  out,  and  there  'd 
be  no  managing  her.  Grayson  sat  for  some  time  helpless 
before  this  argument. 

"  I  don't  see,"  he  said  at  length,  "  but  we  Ve  got  to  face 
Janet.  We  might  as  well  teach  her  to  mind  first  as  last." 
It  was  a  favorite  theory  with  both  of  them  that  some  day 
Janet  was  to  be  taught  to  mind.  So  long  as  no  attempt 
was  made  to  fix  the  day  on  which  the  experiment  was  to 
begin,  the  thought  pleased  them  and  did  no  harm.  But 
this  proposition  to  undertake  the  dreadful  task  at  once  was 
a  spurt  of  courage  in  Thomas  Grayson  that  surprised  his 
wife. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Grayson,'7  she  said,  with  some  spirit,  "  the 
child  's  as  much  yours  as  she  's  mine  j  and  if  she  's  to  be 


THE   GRAYSONS 

taught  to  mind  to-morrow,  I  only  hope  you  11  stay  at  home 
and  begin." 

To  this  suggestion  the  husband  made  no  reply.  He  got 
up  and  began  to  look  under  the  furniture  for  the  boot-jack, 
according  to  his  custom  of  pulling  off  his  boots  in  the  sit 
ting-room  every  night  before  going  to  bed. 

"  You  see,  Charlotte,"  he  said  deprecatingly,  when  he 
had  fished  his  boot-jack  out  from  under  the  bureau,  "I 
don't  know  what  to  do.  If  I  keep  Tom,  Lockwood  11  have 
him  before  the  squire,  and  I  '11  have  to  pay  costs  and  go 
bail  for  him." 

"  I  would  n't  do  it,"  said  Mrs.  Grayson  promptly.     "  We 
can't  afford  to  have  the  little  we  ?ve  got  put  in  danger  for 
him.     I  think  you  '11  have  to  send  him  home,  and  we  ?11 
have  to  get  on  with  Janet.     I  'm  sure  we  have  n't  any 
money  to  waste.     People  think  we  're  rich,  but  we  don't 
feel  rich.    "We  're  always  stinted  when  we  want  anything." 
The  consideration  of  the  risk  of  the  bail  settled  the  mat 
ter  with  both  of  them.     But,  like  other  respectable  people, 
they  settled  such  questions  in  duplicate.     There  are  two 
sets  of  reasons  for  any  course :   the  one  is  the  real  and 
decisive  motive  at  the  bottom  j  the  other  is  the  pretended 
reason  you  impose  on  yourself  and  fail  to  impose  on  your 
neighbors.     The  minister  accepts  the  call  to  a  new  church 
with  a  larger  salary ;  he  tells  himself  that  it  is  on  account  of 
opportunities  for  increased  usefulness  that  he   changes. 
The  politician  accepts  the  office  he  did  n't  want  out  of  defer 
ence  to  the  wishes  of  importunate  friends.     A  widower 


LOCKJTOOD'S  REVENGE  65 

marries  for  the  good  of  his  children.  These  are  not  hypo 
crites  imposing  on  their  neighbors  j  that  is  a  hard  thing  to 
do,  unless  the  neighbors  really  wished  to  be  humbugged  in 
the  interest  of  a  theory.  But  we  keep  complacency  whole 
by  little  impostures  devised  for  our  private  benefit.  It  is 
pleasant  to  believe  that  we  are  acting  from  Sunday  motives, 
but  we  always  keep  good  substantial  week-day  reasons  for 
actual  service.  These  will  bear  hard  usage  without  becom 
ing  shiny  or  threadbare,  and  they  are  warranted  not  to  lose 
their  colors  in  the  sunshine. 

"  I  'm  sure,"  said  Grayson,  "  Tom  gets  no  good  here.  If 
anything  will  do  him  any  good,  it  will  be  sending  him  to 
the  country  to  shift  for  himself.  It  '11  make  a  man  of  him, 
maybe."  No  better  Sunday  reason  for  his  action  could 
have  been  found. 

"  I  think  it 's  your  duty  to  Fend  him  home,"  said  his  wife, 
who  was  more  frightened  the  more  she  thought  of  the  pos 
sible  jeopardy  of  a  few  hundred  dollars  from  the  necessity 
her  husband  would  be  under  of  going  Tom's  bail.  "  A  boy 
like  Tom  is  a  great  deal  better  off  with  his  mother,"  she 
went  on ;  "  and  I  'm  sure  we  Ve  tried  to  do  what  we  could 
for  him,  and  nobody  can  blame  us  if  he  will  throw  away 
his  chance." 

Thus  the  question  was  doubly  settled;  and  as  by  this 
time  Mr.  Grayson's  boots  were  off,  and  he  had  set  them  in 
the  corner  and  pushed  the  boot-jack  into  its  place  under 
the  bureau  with  his  foot,  there  was  no  reason  why  they 

should  not  take  the  candle  and  retire. 
6* 


66  THE  GRAYSONS 

But  when  morning  came  Gray  son  was  still  loth  to  face 
the  matter  of  getting  r,id  of  Tom,  and  especially  of  contend 
ing  with  Janet,  Tom  found  no  chance  to  talk  with  him 
before  breakfast,  for  the  uncle  did  not  come  out  of  his  bed 
room  till  the  coffee  was  on  the  table,  and  he  was  so  silent 
and  constrained  that  Tom  felt  his  doom  in  advance.  Janet 
tried  to  draw  her  father  and  then  her  mother  into  conversa 
tion,  but  failing,  she  settled  back  with  the  remark,  "  This 
is  the  Grossest  family!"  Then  she  made  an  attempt  on 
Tom,  who  began  by  this  time  to  feel  that  exhilaration  of 
desperation  that  was  usually  the  first  effect  of  a  catastro 
phe  on  his  combative  spirit,  for  no  man  could  be  more 
impudent  to  fate  than  he.  When  Janet  playfully  stole  a 
biscuit  from  his  plate,  he  pretended  to  search  for  it  every 
where,  and  then  set  in  a  breakfast-table  romp  between  the 
two  which  exasperated  the  feelings  of  Grayson  and  his 
wife.  When  they  rose  from  the  table  the  uncle  turned 
severely  on  his  nephew,  and  said:  " Tom " 

But  before  he  could  speak  a  second  word,  the  nephew, 
putting  Janet  aside,  interrupted  him  with : 

"  Uncle,  I  should  like  to  speak  with  you  alone  a  minute." 

They  went  into  the  sitting-room  together,  and  Tom  closed 
the  door.  Tom  was  resolved  to  have  the  first  of  it. 

"  Uncle,  I  think  I  had  better  go  home."  Tom  was  look 
ing  out  of  the  window  as  he  spoke.  "  I  got  into  a  row  last 
week  through  George  Lockwood,  who  persuaded  me  to  play 
cards  for  money  with  Dave  Sovine.  I  don't  want  to  get 
you  into  any  trouble,  so  I  'm  off  for  Hubbard  Township,  if 


LOCK  WOOD'S  REVENGE  67 

you  don't  object.  There  's  no  use  of  crying  over  spilt  milk, 
and  that  's  all  there  is  about  it." 

"I  ?m  very  sorry,  Tom,  that  you  won't  pay  attention  to 
what  I  've  said  to  you  about  card-playing."  The  elder 
Grayson  had  seated  himself,  while  Tom  now  stood  nervously 
listening  to  his  uncle's  voice,  which  was  utterly  dry  and 
business-like ;  there  was  not  the  slightest  quiver  of  feeling 
in  it.  "  I  've  got  on  in  the  world  without  anybody  to  help 
me,  but  I  never  let  myself  play  cards,  and  I  've  always  kept 
my  temper.  You  never  make  any  money  by  getting  mad, 
and  if  you  're  going  to  make  any  money,  it 's  better  to  have 
people  friendly.  Now,  I  have  to  stand  a  good  deal  of  abuse. 
People  try  to  cheat  me,  and  if  I  take  the  law  they  call  me  a 
skinflint ;  but  I  should  n't  make  a  cent  more  by  quarreling, 
and  I  might  lose  something.  I  can't  keep  you,  and  have 
you  go  on  as  you  do.  I  've  told  you  that  before.  You  M 
better  go  home.  Town  will  ruin  you.  A  little  hard  work 
in  the  country  '11  be  better,  and  you  won't  be  gambling 
away  the  last  cent  you  've  got  with  a  loafer  like  Dave 
Sovine,  and  then  threatening  to  shoot  somebody,  as  you 
did  young  Lockwood  day  before  yesterday.  Just  think 
what  you  are  coming  to,  Tom.  I  've  done  my  best  for  you, 
and  you  '11  never  be  anything  but  a  gambler  and  a  loafer, 
I  ;m  afraid." 

These  hard  words  sounded  harder  in  the  level  and  self- 
complacent  voice  of  the  senior  Grayson,  who  spoke  slowly 
and  with  hardly  more  intensity  than  there  would  have 
been  in  his  depreciation  of  a  horse  he  was  trying  to  buy. 


68  THE  GRAY  SONS 

"  Just  think  what  you  're  coming  to,"  he  repeated,  because 
he  felt  that  the  proper  thing  to  do  under  the  circumstances 
was  to  give  Tom  a  good  "  talking  to,"  and  he  could  n't 
think  of  anything  more  to  say. 

"  I  don't  need  you  to  tell  me  what  I  'm  coming  to," 
replied  Tom,  tartly 5  "I  'm  coming  to  the  plow-handle  and 
the  grubbing-hoe.  1 7m  sorry  to  give  you  trouble,  but  what 
I  feel  meanest  about  is  mother  and  poor  Barbara.  I  know 
what  a  fool  I  've  been.  But  I  'm  no  more  a  gambler  and  a 
loafer  than  you  are.  It  '11  take  me  longer  to  work  into  the 
law  by  myself,  but  I  '11  get  there  yet,  and  you  '11  see  it." 

This  was  Tom's  only  adieu  to  his  uncle,  on  whom  confes 
sions  of  wrong  and  expressions  of  gratitude,  had  he  felt  like 
uttering  them,  would  have  been  wasted.  Tom  went  to  his 
room,  thumping  his  feet  defiantly  on  the  stairs.  He  made 
a  bundle  of  his  clothes,  while  his  uncle  sneaked  out  of  the 
house  to  avoid  a  collision  with  his  little  daughter,  the  only 
person  of  whom  he  was  afraid. 

Tom  told  his  Aunt  Charlotte  good-bye  with  a  high  head ; 
but  when  it  came  to  Janet,  he  put  both  arms  about  the 
child  and  drew  her  to  him  with  a  fond  embrace. 

"  You  shan't  go  away,  Tom,"  she  said,  disengaging  her 
self.  "What  are  you  going  for?  Did  they  say  you  must?" 
By  "they  "  Janet  meant  her  parents,  whom  she  regarded  as 
the  allied  foes  of  poor  Tom.  She  looked  indignantly  at  her 
mother,  who  had  turned  her  back  on  this  scene  of  parting. 

"  I  'm  going  to  help  my  mother,"  said  Tom ;  "  she 's  poor, 
and  I  ought  n't  to  have  left  her." 


LOCKWOOD'S  REVENGE  69 

He  again  embraced  the  child,  who  began  to  cry  bitterly. 
"What  shall  I  do  when  you  're  gone?"  she  sobbed  on  his 
shoulder.  "  This  house  won't  be  fit  to  live  in.  Such  a  lot 
of  old  pokes  !  "  And  she  stamped  her  feet  and  looked  pout- 
in  gly  at  her  mother. 

Tom  disengaged  himself  from  her  intermittent  embraces, 
and  went  out  with  his  bundle  in  his  hand. 

He  went  first  to  the  law-office,  and  sat  his  bundle  on  a 
chair,  and  addressed  himself  to  Blackman,  who  had  already 
arrived,  and  who  was  apparently  much  preoccupied  with 
his  writing. 

"  Mr.  Blackman,  I  Ve  made  a  fool  of  myself  by  gambling, 
and  Uncle  Tom  has  concluded  I  can't  stay  with  him  any 
longer.  I  don't  much  wonder  at  it  either.  But  I  do  hate 
to  give  up  the  study.  Could  n't  you  give  me  something  to 
do,  so  that  I  could  earn  my  board  at  your  house ! " 

"  No,"  said  the  lawyer,  looking  off  horizontally,  but  not 
at  Tom.  al  was  just  going  to  tell  you  I  could  n't  keep 
you  in  the  office.  You  've  got  altogether  too  much  gun 
powder  for  a  lawyer.  Better  get  into  the  regular  army, 
Tom ;  that  would  suit  your  temper  better."  Then,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  he  added:  "  I  've  got  young  sons,  and  your 
example  might  ruin  them  if  you  should  come  to  my  house 
to  live."  And  he  leaned  forward  as  though  he  would  re 
sume  his  writing.  These  were  sound  and  logical  reasons 
that  Blackman  gave  for  not  keeping  Tom,  and  the  lawyer 
was  sincere  as  far  as  he  went.  But  had  he  discovered  by 
this  time  that  Tom?s  mind  was  clearer  and  more  acute  than 


70  THE   GRATSONS 

his  own,  and  that  if  Tom  should  come  to  the  bar  with  his 
uncle's  backing  he  would  soon  be  a  formidable  rival  I 

"  Besides,"  resumed  the  lawyer,  as  Tom  turned  reluctantly 
away,  "  it 's  better  for  you  to  go  to  the  country.  George 
Lockwood  will  have  you  bound  over  to  keep  the  peace  if 
you  stay,  and  now  you  ?re  out  with  your  uncle,  who  's 
going  your  bail  ? " 

"  Always  George  Lockwood,"  Tom  thought,  as  he  took  up 
his  bundle. 

"Good-bye,  Mr.  Blackman!"  Tom's  voice  was  husky 
now.  But  when  he  descended  the  stairs  he  went  down  the 
village  street  with  a  bold  front,  telling  his  old  cronies 
good-bye,  answering  their  questions  frankly,  and  braving 
it  out  to  the  last.  Put  the  best  face  upon  it  he  could,  his 
spirit  was  bitter,  and  to  a  group  of  old  companions  who 
followed  him  to  the  "  corporation  line,"  at  the  edge  of  the 
village,  he  said,  almost  involuntarily : 

"  George  Lockwood  got  me  into  this  scrape  to  upset  me, 
and  he  ?s  purty  well  done  it.  If  he  ever  crosses  my  path, 
I  'm  going  to  get  even  with  him." 

Such  vague  threats  do  not  bind  one  to  any  definite 
execution,  and  they  are  a  relief  to  the  spirit  of  an  angry 
man. 

Having  broken  with  his  uncle,  Tom  must  walk  the  long 
ten  miles  to  his  mother's  farm  in  Hubbard  Township.  Be 
fore  he  got  there  his  head  was  down  ;  the  unwonted  fatigue 
of  his  journey,  the  bitter  sense  of  defeat,  the  dark  picture 
his  imagination  made  of  his  mother's  disappointment  and 


LOCKWOOD'S  REVENGE  71 

of  the  despair  of  the  ambitious  Barbara  took  all  the  heart 
out  of  him. 

When  he  reached  home  he  strode  into  the  house  and  sat 
down  without  saying  a  word. 

"  Has  Uncle  Tom  turned  you  off  ? "  asked  Barbara,  falter 
ing  a  little  and  putting  down  her  knitting.  She  had  been 
dreading  this  end  of  all  her  hopes. 

"Yes,"  said  Torn ;  "and  I  wish  to  the  Lord  I  was  dead 
and  done  for."  And  he  leaned  his  head  on  his  left  hand. 

"  Oh,  my  poor  boy ! "  began  Mrs.  Grayson,  and  you  did 
n't  mean  no  harm  neither.  And  you  're  the  only  boy  I  Ve 
got,  too.  All  the  rest  dead  and  gone.  They  's  no  end  of 
troubles  in  this  world  !  " 

Tom's  shoulders  were  heaving  with  feeling.  After  a 
moment  or  two  of  silence,  Barbara  went  over  and  put  her 
hand  on  him. 

"  Pshaw,  Tom  !  what 's  the  use  of  giving  up  ?  You  7re  a 
splendid  fellow  in  spite  of  all,  and  you  '11  make  your  way 
yet.  You  only  needed  a  settler,  and  now  you  've  got  it.  It 
won't  look  so  bad  by  next  week.  You  >11  take  a  school  next 
winter,  and  after  that  go  back  to  study  law  again." 

Then  she  quietly  went  to  the  clothes-press  by  the  chim 
ney  and  got  out  a  hank  of  yarn,  and  said  to  Tom : 

"  Here,  hold  this  while  I  wind  it.  I  was  just  wishing  you 
were  here  when  I  saw  my  ball  giving  out.  That 's  like  you 
used  to  do  for  me.  Don't  you  remember?  Mother,  get 
Tom  something  to  eat ;  he  's  tired  and  hungry,  I  expect." 

And  choking  down  the  disappointment  which  involved 


72  THE  GEATSONS 

more  than  Tom  suspected,  the  keen,  black-eyed  girl  wound 
her  yarn  and  made  an  effort  to  chat  with  Tom  as  though  he 
had  come  home  on  a  visit. 

As  the  last  strands  were  wound  on  the  ball,  Tom  looked 
at  his  sister  and  said : 

"  Barbara,  you  7re  one  of  a  thousand.  But  I  know  this 
thing  7s  thundering  hard  on  you.  I  'm  going  to  try  to 
make  it  up  to  you  from  this  time.  I  wish  to  goodness  I 
had  half  of  your  steady  sense." 


VIII 
BARBARA'S  PRIVATE  AFFAIRS 

ROM  childhood  Barbara's  ambition  had  cen 
tered  in  Tom ;  it  was  her  plan  that  the 
clever  brother  should  give  standing  to  the 
family  by  his  success  in  life.  If  Tom  could 
only  be  persuaded  to  be  steady,  he  might  come  to  be  a 
great  man.  A  great  man,  in  her  thinking,  was  a  member 
of  the  State  legislature,  or  a  circuit  judge,  for  example :  to 
her  provincial  imagination  the  heights  above  these  were 
hazy  and  almost  inaccessible.  The  scheme  of  a  professional 
career  for  Tom  had  been  her  own,  in  conception  and  man 
agement  ;  for  though  her  brother  was  nearly  two  years  her 
senior,  she,  being  prudent  and  forecasting,  had  always 
played  the  part  of  an  elder.  Tom's  undeniable  "bright 
ness  "  was  a  great  source  of  pride  to  her.  In  spite  of  his 
heedless  collisions  with  the  masters,  he  was  always  at  the 
head  of  his  classes ;  and  it  seemed  to  Barbara  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world  that  she,  being  a  girl,  should  subordi 
nate  herself  to  the  success  of  a  brother  so  promising.  She 
had  left  school  to  devote  herself  to  the  house  and  the  cares 

73 


74  THE  GRATSONS 

of  the  farm,  in  order  that  Tom  might  be  educated — in  the 
moderate  sense  of  the  word  then  prevalent.  The  brother 
was  far  from  being  ungrateful ;  if  he  accepted  his  sister's 
sacrifices  without  protest,  he  repaid  her  with  a  demonstra 
tive  affection  and  admiration  not  often  seen  in  brothers  j 
and  there  were  times  when  he  almost  reverenced  in  her 
that  prudence  and  practical  wisdom  in  which  he  found  him 
self  deficient. 

It  was  only  during  this  summer  that  Barbara  had  been 
seized  with  independent  aspirations  for  herself ;  and  per 
haps  even  these  were  not  without  some  relation  to  Tom.  If 
Tom  should  come  to  be  somebody  in  the  county,  she  would 
sit  in  a  reflected  light  as  his  sister.  It  became  her,  there 
fore,  not  to  neglect  entirely  her  own  education.  To  go  to 
Moscow  to  a  winter  school  was  out  of  the  question.  Every 
nerve  was  strained  to  extricate  the  farm  from  debt  and  to 
give  a  little  help,  now  and  then,  to  Tom.  It  chanced,  how 
ever,  that  a  student  from  an  incipient  Western  college, 
intent  on  getting  money  to  pay  his  winter's  board  bills,  had 
that  summer  opened  a  "pay  school "  in  the  Timber  Creek 
district  school-house,  which  was  only  two  miles  from  the 
Grayson  farm. 

Those  who  could  attend  school  in  the  summer  were,  for 
the  most  part,  small  fry  too  young  to  be  of  much  service  in 
the  field,  and  such  girls,  larger  and  smaller,  as  could  be 
spared  from  home.  But  the  appetite  for  "  schooling  "  in 
the  new  country  was  always  greater  than  the  supply ;  and 
when  it  was  reported  that  a  school  was  "  to  be  took  up"  in 


BARBARA'S  PRIVATE  AFFAIRS  75 

the  Timber  Creek  school-house,  by  a  young  man  who  had 
not  only  "  ciphered  plumb  through  the  Rule  of  Three,"  but 
had  even  begun  to  penetrate  the  far-away  mysteries  of 
Latin  and  algebra,  it  came  to  pass  that  several  young  men 
and  young  women,  living  beyond  the  district  limits,  sub 
scribed  to  the  school,  that  they  might  attend  it,  even  if 
only  irregularly;  —  not  that  any  of  the  pupils  dreamed  of 
attacking  the  Latin,  but  a  teacher  who  had  attained  this 
Ultima  Thule  of  human  learning  was  supposed  to  know 
well  all  that  lay  on  the  hither  side  of  it.  The  terms  of  a 
"  pay  school,"  in  that  day,  were  low  enough, —  a  dollar  and 
twenty-five  cents  was  the  teacher's  charge  for  each  pupil  for 
thirteen  weeks ;  but  the  new  schoolmaster  had  walked  from 
home  to  avoid  traveling  expenses,  the  log  school-house  cost 
him  no  rent,  and  he  had  stipulated  that  he  should  "  board 
'round"  in  the  families  of  his  patrons,  so  that  the  money  he 
received  from  twenty  pupils  was  clear  profit,  and  at  the 
price  of  living  in  those  primitive  times  would  pay  his  board 
at  college  for  six  months. 

Barbara,  for  one,  had  resolved  to  treat  herself  to  a  dol 
lar  and  a  quarter's  worth  of  additional  learning.  The 
Timber  Creek  school-house  was  on  the  road  leading  to  the 
village  of  Moscow ;  she  could  therefore  catch  a  ride,  now 
and  then,  on  the  wagon  of  some  farmer  bound  to  the  vil 
lage,  by  mounting  on  top  of  a  load  of  wood,  hay,  or  pota 
toes  ;  and  often  she  got  a  lift  in  the  evening  in  a  neighbor's 
empty  wagon  rattling  homeward  from  town,  or  for  a  part 
of  the  way  by  sitting  in  the  tail  of  some  ox-cart  plying 


76  THE   GRAY  SONS 

between  forest  and  prairie ;  but  more  frequently  she  had  to 
walk  both  in  going  and  coming,  besides  working  early  and 
late  at  her  household  duties. 

Hiram  Mason  was  the  name  of  the  new  teacher  whom 
the  pupils  found  behind  the  master's  desk  on  the  first  day 
of  school.  He  was  the  son  of  a  minister  who  had  como 
out  from  New  England  with  the  laudable  intention  of  lend 
ing  a  hand  in  evangelizing  this  great  strapping  West, 
whose  vigorous  and  rather  boisterous  youth  was  ever  a 
source  of  bewilderment,  and  even  a  cause  of  grief,  to  the 
minds  of  well-regulated  Down-easters.  The  evangelists 
sent  out  aimed  at  the  impossible,  even  at  the  undesirable, 
in  seeking  to  reproduce  a  New  England  in  communities 
born  under  a  different  star.  Perhaps  it  was  this  peninsular 
trait  of  mind  that  prevented  the  self-denying  missionaries 
from  making  any  considerable  impression  on  the  country 
south  of  the  belt  peopled  by  the  current  of  migration  from 
New  England.  The  civilization  of  the  broad,  wedge-shaped 
region  on  the  north  side  of  the  Ohio  Eiver,  which  was  set 
tled  by  Southern  and  Middle  State  people,  and  which  is 
the  great  land  of  the  Indian  corn,  has  been  evolved  out  of 
the  healthier  elements  of  its  own  native  constitution.  But 
it  was  indebted  to  New  England,  in  the  time  of  its  need, 
for  many  teachers  of  arithmetic  and  grammar,  as  well  as 
for  the  less-admirable  but  never-to-be-forgotten  clock-ped 
dlers  and  tin-peddlers  from  Connecticut,  who  also  taught 
the  rustics  of  southern  Ohio,  Indiana,  and  Illinois  things 
they  had  never  dreamed  of  before,  and  took  high  pay  for 


BARBARA'S  PRIVATE  AFFAIRS  77 

the  instruction.     Young  Mason,  though  he  had  mostly 
grown  up  in  the  new  country,  and  would  have  scorned  the 
name  of  Yankee,  had  got  from  his  father  that  almost  super 
stitious  faith  in  the  efficacy  of  knowledge  which,  in  the 
North-eastern  States,  has  been  handed  down  from  genera 
tion  to  generation,  and  which  has  produced  much  learning 
and  some  pedantry.     Mason  was  of  middle  stature,  good 
breadth  of  shoulder,  prominent,  broad  forehead,  and  brows 
that  overhung  his  eyes,  but  were  rather  high  above  them. 
He  had  a  well-set  chin  and  a  solid  jaw ;  his  mouth  was  too 
large  to  be  handsome  and  was  firmly  closed ;  his  gait  was 
strong,  straightforward,  resolute,  and  unhurried.     There 
were  little  touches  of  eccentricity  in  him :  he  had  a  way  of 
looking  at  an  interlocutor  askance,  and  his  habitual  expres 
sion  was  one  of  mingled  shyness  and  self-contained  amuse 
ment.     The  religious  enthusiasm  of  his  father  had  been 
transmuted  in  him  to  a  general  earnestness  of  character, 
which  was  veiled  under  a  keen  perception  of  the  droll  side 
of  life,  derived  from  a  mother  of  Southern  extraction.   His 
early-and-late  diligence  in  study  was  the  wonder  of  the 
country,  but  the  tastes  and  aspirations  that  impelled  him  to 
so  much  toil  rarely  found  utterance  in  any  confessions,  even 
to  his  nearest  friends.  Reserved  as  he  was,  the  people  could 
never  complain  that  he  held  himself  above  them.     A  new- 
country  youth,  the  son  of  a  minister  on  slender  pay,  Hiram 
understood  how  to  extend  a  helping  hand,  when  occasion 
required,  in  any  work  that  might  be  going  on.     At  school, 
when  the  young  master  saw  the  boys  playing  at  the  boister- 
7* 


78  THE  GRAYSONS 

ous  and  promiscuous  "soak  about,"  he  would  sometimes 
catch  the  contagion  of  the  wild  fun,  and,  thrusting  his 
"  Livy  "  into  the  desk,  rush  out  of  the  door  to  mix  in  the 
confusion,  throwing  the  yarn  ball  at  one  and  another  with 
a  vigor  and  an  accuracy  of  aim  that  doubled  the  respect  of 
his  pupils  for  him.  But  when  once  he  had  extricated  him 
self  from  the  meUe,  and  had  rapped  on  the  door-frame  with 
his  ruler,  crying,  "  Books,  books ! "  the  boy  who  a  minute 
before  had  enjoyed  the  luxury  of  giving  the  master  what 
was  known  in  school-boy  lingo  as  a  "  sockdolager,"  deliv 
ered  full  in  the  back,  or  even  on  the  side  of  the  head,  did 
not  find  any  encouragement  to  presume  on  that  experience 
in  school-hours. 

The  new  master's  punishments  usually  had  a  touch  of  his 
drollery  in  them ;  he  contrived  to  make  the  culprit  ridicu 
lous,  and  so  to  keep  the  humor  of  the  school  on  his  side. 
A  girl  who  could  not  otherwise  be  cured  of  munching  in 
school  had  to  stand  in  front  of  the  master's  desk  with  an 
apple  in  her  teeth  •  a  boy  who  was  wont  to  get  his  sport  by 
pinching  his  neighbors,  and  sticking  them  with  pins,  was 
forced  to  make  no  end  of  amusement  for  the  school  in  his 
turn,  by  standing  on  the  hearth  with  a  cleft  stick  pinching 
his  nose  out  of  shape.  It  was  soon  concluded  that  there 
was  no  fun  in  "fooling"  with  a  master  who  was  sure  to 
turn  the  joke  on  the  offender. 

The  older  pupils  who  occupied  the  "  writing  bench,"  in 
front  of  a  continuous  shelf -like  desk  fixed  along  the  wall, 
spent  much  of  their  time  in  smuggling  from  one  to  another 


BARBARA'S  PRIVATE  AFFAIRS  79 

fervid  little  love  notes,  which,  for  disguise,  were  folded  like 
the  "  thumb-papers "  that  served  to  protect  their  books 
from  the  wear  and  tear  of  their  over- vigorous  thumbs,  and 
from  soiling.  By  passing  books  from  one  to  another,  with 
such  innocent-looking  square  papers  in  them,  a  refreshing 
correspondence  was  kept  up.  This  exchange  of  smuggled 
billets-doux  was  particularly  active  when  Rachel  Albaugh 
was  present.  As  for  the  love-letters  thus  dispatched,  they 
were  fearfully  monotonous  and  not  worth  the  pains  of  capt 
ure  by  a  schoolmaster.  Some  were  straightforward  and 
shameless  declarations  of  admiration  and  affection  in  prose 
scrawls,  but  a  very  common  sort  was  composed  entirely  of 
one  or  another  of  those  well-worn  doggerel  couplets  that 
have  perhaps  done  duty  since  the  art  of  writing  became 
known  to  the  Anglo-Saxons. 

11  If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you, 
No  knife  can  cut  our  love  in  two," 

was  a  favorite  with  the  swains  of  the  country  school-house  j 

but 

"  The  rose  is  red,  the  violet 's  blue, 
Sugar  's  sweet,  and  so  are  you," 

had  a  molasses-like  consistency  in  its  alliterative  lines  that 
gave  it  the  preference  over  all  other  love  poems  extant. 

Amongst  these  unblushing  scribblers  of  love  doggerel 
and  patient  cutters  and  folders  of  many  sorts  of  thumb- 
papers,  whose  fits  of  studying,  like  chills  and  fever,  came 
on  only  "  by  spells,"  Barbara  sat  without  being  one  of  them. 


80  THE  G  EAT  SONS 

The  last  chance  for  education  was  not  to  be  thrown  away  ; 
and  Mason  soon  singled  out  this  rather  under-sized,  sharp- 
eyed  girl,  not  only  as  the  most  industrious  and  clever  of 
the  pupils  in  the  Timber  Creek  school,  but  as  a  person  of 
quite  another  sort  from  the  rest  of  them.  When  he  was 
explaining  anything  to  a  group  of  half-listless  scholars,  her 
dark  eyes,  drawn  to  beads,  almost  startled  him  with  their 
concentrated  interest.  She  could  not  be  taught  in  any  kind 
of  classification  with  the  rest;  her  rate  of  progress  was 
too  rapid.  So  finding  that  Barbara  studied  all  through 
the  recess  time,  he  undertook  to  give  her  extra  instruction 
while  the  others  were  on  the  playground.  The  most  agree 
able  minutes  of  his  day  were  those  in  which  he  unfolded  to 
her  the  prosaic  principles  of  Vulgar  Fractions,  of  Tare  and 
Tret,  and  of  the  Rule  of  Three.  This  last  was  the  great 
and  final  goal,  and  it  was  attained  by  few  of  those  who  at 
tended  an  intermittent  country  school  in  that  time.  To 
reach  it  was  to  become  competent  to  teach  school.  Bar 
bara,  with  the  help  of  the  master,  who  directed  her  to  save 
time  by  omitting  some  of  the  rubbish  in  Pike's  Arithmetic, 
was  soon  in  sight  of  this  promised  land  of  the  Rule  of  Three, 
and  it  became  a  question  of  reviewing  the  book  once  more, 
when  she  should  be  through  with  it,  so  as  to  take  rank 
among  those  who  would  certainly  "do  every  sum  in  the 
book." 

"Why  not  take  up  algebra?"  said  the  teacher  to  her, 
during  a  long  noon  recess  as  they  sat  side  by  side  at  his 
desk  poring  over  a  slate  full  of  figures. 


BARBARA'S  PRIVATE  AFFAIRS  81 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  learn  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  You  could  learn  anything/7  he  said  ;  and  the  assurance 
gave  Barbara  more  pleasure  than  any  commendation  she 
had  ever  received.  But  she  did  not  know  what  to  reply. 
To  go  beyond  the  arithmetic  would  be,  according  to  the 
standard  of  the  country,  to  have  a  liberal  education,  and 
she  was  ambitious  enough  to  like  that.  But  where  would 
she  get  the  money  to  buy  a  text-book  ?  She  did  n't  wish  to 
confess  her  scruple  of  economy.  It  was  not  that  she  was 
ashamed  of  her  poverty,  for  poverty  might  be  said  to  be 
the  prevailing  fashion  in  the  Timber  Creek  country ;  but  it 
would  be  bringing  to  Mason's  attention  her  private  affairs, 
and  from  that  she  shrank  with  an  instinct  of  delicacy  for 
which  she  could  not  have  given  any  reason.  Yet  there  sat 
Mason,  leaning  back  and  waiting  for  her  to  reply  to  his 
question.  After  a  few  moments  she  mustered  courage  to 
ask  timidly : 

"  Would  the  book  cost  much  ?  n 

"  I  would  n't  buy  any  book  just  now,"  said  the  master, 
seeing  the  drift  of  her  thoughts.  He  went  to  one  corner  of 
the  school-room,  and,  standing  on  the  bench,  pushed  aside 
one  of  the  boards  laid  loosely  over  the  joists  above.  It  was 
here,  in  the  dark  loft,  that  he  kept  the  few  articles  not 
necessary  to  his  daily  existence  in  boarding  'round.  Reach 
ing  his  hand  up  above  the  boards,  he  found  a  copy  of  a 
school  text-book  on  algebra,  and  brought  it  down  with  him, 
rapping  it  against  his  hand  and  blowing  the  dust  off  it. 

"  Use  that  for  a  while,"  he  said. 


82  THE  GRAY  SONS 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  "  said  Barbara,  taking  hold  of  the 
book  with  a  curious  sense  of  reverence,  which  was  greatly 
increased  as  she  turned  the  leaves  and  regarded  the  sym 
bols,  whose  nature  and  use  were  quite  inconceivable  to  her. 
Here  was  a  knowledge  beyond  any  that  she  had  ever 
dreamed  of  looking  into  ;  beyond  that  of  any  schoolmaster 
she  had  ever  known,  except  Mason.  "  It  looks  hard,"  she 
said,  regarding  him. 

"  Take  it  home  and  try  it/'  he  replied,  as  he  took  up  his 
ruler  to  call  the  scholars  to  books. 

A  closer  companionship  now  grew  up  between  the  master 
and  the  pupil.  Both  of  them  anticipated  with  pleasure  the 
coming  of  recess  time,  when  the  new  study  could  be  dis 
cussed  together.  Henceforth  the  boys  looked  in  vain  for 
Mason  to  take  a  turn  with  them  in  playing  soak-about. 

To  a  man  of  high  aims  nothing  is  more  delightful  than 
to  have  a  devoted  disciple.  Even  the  self-contained  Mason 
could  not  be  quite  unmoved  in  contemplating  this  young 
girl,  all  of  whose  tastes  and  ambitions  flowed  in  the  same 
channel  with  his  own,  listening  to  him  as  to  an  oracle.  If 
he  had  not  been  so  firmly  fixed  in  his  resolve  that  he  would 
not  allow  any  woman  to  engage  his  affections  before  he  had 
completed  his  college  course,  he  might  have  come  to  fall  in 
love  with  her.  But  all  such  thoughts  he  resolutely  put 
aside.  Of  course,  teaching  her  was  a  delight;  but  who 
could  help  feeling  delight  in  teaching  such  a  learner? 
Moreover,  he  was  particularly  fond  of  algebra.  But  he 
could  hardly  lay  all  of  his  enjoyment  to  his  liking  for  alge- 


BARBARA'S  PRIVATE  AFFAIRS  83 

bra,  or  his  pleasure  in  teaching  a  quick-witted  pupil.  He 
could  not  make  himself  believe  that  it  was  his  enjoyment 
of  algebraic  generalizations  that  made  his  hand  tremble 
whenever  he  returned  a  slate  or  book  to  Barbara  Grayson. 

Barbara,  for  her  part,  was  too  intent  on  her  work  to 
think  much  about  anything  else.  She  had  more  than  once 
caught  sight  of  the  furtive,  inquiring  glance  of  her  teacher 
on  her  face  before  he  could  turn  his  eyes  away  j  she  was 
pleased  to  note  that  his  voice  had  a  tone  in  addressing  her 
that  it  had  not  when  he  spoke  to  the  others ;  and  she  took 
pleasure  in  perceiving  that  she  was  beyond  question  the 
favorite  pupil.  But  Barbara  was  averse  to  building  any 
castles  in  the  air  which  she  had  small  chance  of  being  able 
to  materialize. 

One  evening,  as  she  was  going  briskly  toward  home,  she 
was  overtaken  by  Mason,  who  walked  with  her  up  hill  and 
down  dale  the  whole  long  rough  new-country  road  through 
the  woods,  carrying  her  books,  and  chatting  about  trivial 
things  as  he  had  never  done  before.  He  contrived,  half  in 
pleasantry,  but  quite  in  earnest,  to  praise  her  diligence,  and 
even  her  mind.  She  had  hardly  ever  thought  of  herself  as 
having  a  mind.  That  Tom  had  such  a  gift  she  knew,  and 
she  understood  how  important  it  was  to  cultivate  his  abili 
ties.  But  she  was  only  Tom's  sister.  It  seemed  to  her  a 
fine  thing,  however,  this  having  a  mind  of  her  own,  and 
she  thought  a  good  deal  about  it  afterward. 

When  Hiram  Mason  reached  the  place  where  Barbara 
was  accustomed  to  leave  the  main  road,  in  order  to  reach 


84  THE  GRAYSONS 

her  home  by  a  shorter  path  through  a  meadow,  he  got  over 
the  fence  first  and  gave  her  his  hand,  though  he  wondered 
afterward  that  he  had  had  the  courage  to  do  it.  Barbara 
had  climbed  fences  and  trees  too,  for  that  matter,  from  her 
infancy,  and  she  was  in  the  habit  of  getting  over  this  fence 
twice  a  day,  without  ever  dreaming  that  she  needed  help. 
But  a  change  had  come  over  her  in  this  two-miles7  walk 
from  school.  For  the  first  time,  she  felt  a  certain  loneli 
ness  in  her  life,  and  a  pleasure  in  being  protected.  She  let 
Mason  take  her  hand  and  help  her  to  the  top  of  the  fence, 
though  she  could  have  climbed  up  much  more  nimbly  if  she 
had  had  both  hands  free  to  hold  by.  Hiram  found  it  so 
pleasant  helping  her  up,  by  holding  her  hand,  that  he  took 
both  her  hands  when  she  was  ready  to  jump  down  on  the 
meadow  side  of  the  fence,  and  then,  by  an  involuntary  im 
pulse  he  retained  her  right  hand  in  his  left  a  bare  moment 
longer  than  was  necessary.  A  little  ashamed,  not  so  much 
of  the  feeling  he  had  shown  as  of  that  he  had  concealed,  he 
finished  his  adieux  abruptly,  and,  placing  his  hands  on  the 
top  rail,  vaulted  clean  over  the  fence  again  into  the  road. 
Then  he  thought  of  something  else  that  he  wanted  to  say 
about  Barbara's  new  study  of  algebra, —  something  of  no 
consequence  at  all,  except  in  so  far  as  it  served  to  make 
Barbara  turn  and  look  at  him  once  more.  The  odd  twink 
ling  smile  so  habitual  with  him  died  out  of  his  face,  and  he 
looked  into  hers  with  an  eagerness  that  made  her  blush, 
but  did  not  make  her  turn  away.  Blaming  himself  for 
what  seemed  to  him  imprudence,  he  left  her  at  last  and 


BARBARA'S  PRIVATE  AFFAIRS  85 

started  back,  only  stopping  on  the  next  high  ground  to 
watch  her  figure  as  she  hurried  along  through  the  meadow 
grass,  and  across  the  brook,  and  then  up  the  slope  toward 
the  house. 

There  were  several  other  evenings  not  very  different  from 
this  one.  The  master  would  wait  until  all  the  pupils  had 
gone,  and  then  overtake  Barbara.  He  solaced  his  con 
science  by  carrying  a  book  in  his  pocket,  so  as  to  study  on 
the  way  back ;  but  he  found  a  strange  wandering  of  the 
mind  in  his  endeavors  to  read  a  dead  language  after  a  walk 
with  Barbara.  He  still  held  to  his  resolution,  or  to  what 
was  left  of  his  resolution,  not  to  entangle  himself  with  an 
early  engagement.  What  visions  he  indulged  in,  of  projects 
to  be  carried  out  in  a  very  short  time  after  his  graduation, 
belong  to  the  secrets  of  his  own  imagination  ;  all  his  follies 
shall  not  be  laid  bare  here.  But  to  keep  from  committing 
himself  too  far,  he  drew  the  line  at  the  boundary  of  Mrs. 
Grayson's  farm, —  the  meadow  fence.  He  gave  himself  a 
little  grace,  and  drew  the  line  on  the  inside  of  the  fence. 
He  was  firmly  resolved  never  to  go  quite  home  with  his 
pupil,  and  never  to  call  at  her  house.  So  long  as  he  stopped 
at  the  fence,  or  within  ten,  or  say  twenty,  or  perhaps  thirty, 
feet  of  it  he  felt  reasonably  safe.  But  he  could  not,  in 
common  civility,  turn  back  until  he  had  helped  her  to  sur 
mount  this  eight-rail  fence;  and  indeed  it  was  the  great 
treat  to  which  he  always  looked  forward.  There  was  a  sort 
of  permissible  intimacy  in  such  an  attention.  He  guarded  » 
himself,  however,  against  going  beyond  the  limits  of  civil- 
8 


86  THE  GRAYSONS 

ity — of  kindly  politeness — of  polite  friendship;  that  was 
the  precise  phrase  he  hit  on  at  last.  But  good  resolutions 
often  come  to  naught  because  of  its  being  so  very  difficult 
to  reckon  beforehand  with  the  involuntary  and  the  uncon 
trollable.  The  goodman  of  the  house  never  knows  at 
what  moment  the  thief  will  surprise  him.  One  evening 
Mason  had  taken  especial  pains  to  talk  on  only  the  most 
innocent  and  indifferent  subjects,  such  as  algebra.  On  this 
theme  he  was  the  schoolmaster,  and  he  felt  particularly 
secure  against  any  expression  of  feeling,  for  #,  ?/,  and  z  are 
unknown  quantities  that  have  no  emotion  in  them.  Though 
Barbara  was  yet  in  the  rudiments  of  the  study,  he  was  try 
ing  to  make  her  understand  the  general  principles  involved 
in  the  discussion  of  the  famous  problem  of  the  lights.  To 
make  this  clear  he  sat  down  once  or  twice  on  logs  lying  by 
the  roadside,  and  wrote  some  characters  on  her  slate  show 
ing  the  relation  of  a  to  6  in  any  given  case,  while  Barbara 
sat  by  and  looked  over  his  demonstrations.  But  in  spite  of 
these  delays,  they  got  to  the  fence  before  he  had  fhyshed, 
and  the  rest  was  postponed  for  another  time.  It  did  n't 
matter  so  much  about  the  lights  after  all,  whether  they  were 
near  together  or  far  apart ;  it  does  not  matter  to  lights,  but 
there  are  flames  much  affected  by  proximity.  As  Mason 
helped  Barbara  down  from  the  fence,  his  passion,  by  some 
sudden  assault,  got  the  better  of  his  prudence,  and  looking 
intently  into  the  eyes  shaded  by  the  sun-bonnet,  he  came 
out  with : 

"  It  ?s  all  the  world  to  a  fellow  like  me  to  have  such  a 
scholar  as  you  are,  Barbara." 


BAEBARA'S  PRITATE  AFFAIRS  87 

The  words  were  mild  enough  ;  but  his  eager  manner  and 
his  air  of  confidence,  as  he  stood  in  front  of  her  sun-bonnet 
and  spoke,  with  his  face  flushed,  and  in  a  low  and  unsteady 
voice,  made  his  speech  a  half  confession.  Startled  at  this 
sudden  downfall  of  his  resolution,  he  got  back  over  the 
fence  and  went  straight  away,  without  giving  her  a  chance 
to  say  anything ;  without  so  much  as  uttering  a  civil  good 
bye.  The  precipitation  of  his  retreat  only  served  to  lend 
the  greater  significance  to  his  unpremeditated  speech. 

Mrs.  Grayson  complained  that  there  was  "  no  sense  in  a 
girl's  studyin'  algebra,  an'  tryin'  to  know  more  'n  many  a 
good  schoolmaster  ever  knowed  when  I  was  a  girl.  Ever 
since  Barbary  's  been  at  that  new-fangled  study,  it 's  seemed 
like  as  if  she  'd  somehow  'r  nuther  gone  deranged.  She  '11 
say  supper  's  ready  when  they  ain't  knife  nur  fork  on  the 
table  ;  an'  she  's  everlastin'ly  losin'  her  knittin'-needles  an' 
puttin'  her  thimble  where  she  can't  find  it,  or  mislayin'  her 
sun-bonnet.  Ef  her  head  was  loose,  she  'd  be  shore  to  leave 
that  around  somewheres,  liker  'n  not." 

If  Hiram  Mason's  half -in  voluntary  love-making  had  not 
brought  Barbara  unmeasured  pleasure  she  would  not  have 
been  the  normal  young  woman  that  she  was.  He  filled  all 
her  ideals,  and  went  beyond  the  highest  standard  she  had 
set  up  before  she  knew  him.  She  was  not  the  kind  of  a 
girl  that  one  meets  nowadays ;  at  least,  that  one  meets  now 
adays  in  novels.  She  did  not  have  a  lot  of  perfectly  need 
less  and  inconceivably  fine-spun  conscientious  scruples  to 
prevent  the  course  of  her  fortune  from  running  smoothly. 


88  THE  GRAY  SONS 

She  did  find  in  herself  a  drawing  back  from  the  future 
which  Mason's  partiality  had  brought  within  the  range  of 
her  vision.  But  her  scruple  was  only  one  of  pride  5  she 
exaggerated  the  superiority  of  an  educated  family,  such  as 
she  conceived  his  to  be,  and  she  reflected  that  the  Graysons 
were  simple  country  people.  She  felt  in  herself  that  she 
could  never  endure  the  mortification  she  would  feel,  as 
Hiram's  wife,  if  the  Masons  should  look  down  on  her  good 
but  unlettered  mother,  and  say  or  feel  that  Hiram  had 
"  married  below  him."  If,  now,  Tom  should  come  to  some 
thing,  the  equation  would  be  made  good. 

But  the  very  day  after  Mason  had  spoken  so  warmly  of 
the  comfort  he  found  in  such  a  pupil  was  that  disagreeable 
Saturday  on  which  Tom  had  come  home  plucked  in  gam 
bling,  to  ask  for  money  enough  to  pay  the  debt  he  had  in 
curred  in  redeeming  his  clothes.  Was  it  any  wonder  that 
Barbara  spoke  to  him  with  severity  when  she  found  her 
cherished  vision  becoming  an  intangible  illusion?  Tom 
would  make  no  career  at  all  at  this  rate ;  and  to  yield  to 
Hiram  Mason's  wooing  would  now  be  to  bring  to  him,  not 
only  the  drawback  of  a  family  of  humble  breeding  and 
slender  education,  but  the  disgrace  of  a  rash,  unsteady,  and 
unsuccessful  brother,  whose  adventures  with  gamblers  would 
seem  particularly  disreputable  to  a  minister's  family.  There 
was  no  good  in  thinking  about  it  any  more.  Her  pride 
could  never  bear  to  be  "  looked  down  on  n  by  the  family  of 
her  husband.  It  would  be  better  to  give  it  up  at  once  — 
unless  —  she  clung  to  this  possibility  —  unless  Tom  should 


BARBARA'S  PRIVATE  AFFAIRS  89 

turn  out  right  after  all.  The  necessity  for  surrendering  so 
much  imminent  happiness  did  not  surprise  her.  She  had 
always  had  to  forego,  and  no  prospect  of  happiness  could 
seem  quite  possible  of  realization  to  an  imagination  accus 
tomed  to  contemplate  a  future  of  self-denial.  None  the 
less,  the  disappointment  was  most  acute,  for  she  must  even 
give  up  the  school,  and  try,  by  spinning  yarn,  by  knitting 
stockings,  and  by  weaving  jeans  and  linsey,  to  make  up  the 
money  taken  out  of  their  little  fund  by  Tom's  recklessness. 
On  the  next  Monday,  and  the  days  following,  she  staid 
at  home  without  sending  any  word  to  the  schoolmaster. 
She  held  to  a  lurking  hope  that  Tom's  affairs  might  mend, 
and  she  be  able,  by  some  good  luck,  to  resume  her  attend 
ance  on  the  school  for  a  part  of  the  remainder  of  the  quar 
ter.  But  when  on  Wednesday  Tom's  haggard  face  appeared 
at  the  door,  and  she  read  in  it  that  all  her  schemes  for  him 
had  miscarried,  she  knew  that  she  must  give  up  dreaming 
dreams  which  seemed  too  good  to  be  innocent.  There  was 
nothing  for  her  but  to  give  herself  to  doing  what  could 
be  done  for  Tom.  It  was  lucky  that  the  poor  fellow  did 
not  suspect  what  it  cost  her  to  put  a  smooth  face  on  his 
disasters. 


8* 


IX 


BY  THE  LOOM 


N  Monday,  Mason  saw  with  regret  that  Bar 
bara  was  not  at  school.  On  Tuesday  he  felt 
solicitous,  and  would  have  made  inquiry  if  it 
had  not  been  for  an  impulse  of  secretiveness. 
BV  \\Tednesday  he  began  to  fear  that  his  words 
spoken  to  her  at  the  meadow  fence  had  something  to  do  with 
her  absence.  He  questioned  the  past.  He  could  not  remem 
ber  that  she  had  ever  repelled  his  attentions,  or  that  she  had 
seemed  displeased  when  he  had  spoken  his  fervent  and  unpre 
meditated  words.  Aware  that  his  bearing  toward  Bar 
bara  had  attracted  the  observation  of  the  school,  he  did  not 
summon  courage  to  ask  about  her  until  Thursday.  Then 
when  the  voluble  Mely  McCord  came  to  him  before  the  be 
ginning  of  the  afternoon  session,  to  ask  how  she  should 
proceed  to  divide  130  by  9,  he  inquired  if  Barbara  was  ill. 

"  No,  I  don't  'low  she 's  sick,"  responded  Mely.  "  I  sh'd 
>a'  thought  she  'd  tole  you,  >f  anybody,  what >t  wuz  kep'  >er  " ; 
and  Mely  laughed  a  malicious  little  snicker,  which  revealed 
her  belief  that  the  master  was  in  confidential  relations  with 

90 


BY  THE  LOOM  91 

his  algebra  scholar.  "  She  thinks  the  worP  'n'  all  of  the  school 
an'  the  master."  Mely  gasped  a  little  as  she  ventured  this 
thrust,  and  quickly  added,  "  An'  of  algebray  —  she 's  that 
fond  of  algebray  •  but  I  sh'd  thought  she  'd  V  tole  you  what 
kep'  >er,  ur  'a'  sen'  choo  word.  But  I  'low  it  ;s  got  sumpin'  to 
do  weth  the  trouble  in  the  family." 

Mely  made  what  the  .old  schoolmasters  called  a  "  full  stop" 
at  this  point,  as  though  she  considered  it  certain  that  Mason 
would  know  all  about  Barbara's  affairs. 

"  Trouble  I    What  trouble  I "  asked  the  master. 

"  Wy,  I  'low'd  you'd  'a'  knowed,"  said  the  teasing  crea 
ture,  shaking  her  rusty  ringlets,  with  a  fluttering,  half-sup- 
pressed  amusement  at  the  anxiety  she  had  awakened  in 
Mason's  mind.  "  Hain'  choo  h-yeard  about  her  brother  ? " 

"  No  ;  which  brother  T     The  one  that 's  in  Moscow  ? " 

"  W'y,  lawsy,  don'  choo  know 't  she  hain't  got  nary  nuther 
one  ?  The  res' 's  all  dead  an'  buried  long  ago.  Her  brother 
Tom  lost  'is  sitooation  along  of  gamblin'  an'  the  like.  They 
say  he  lost  the  boots  offviz  feet  an'  the  coat  offviz  back." 
Here  Mely  had  to  give  vent  to  her  feelings  in  a  hearty 
giggle  ;  Tom's  losses  seemed  to  her  a  joke  of  the  best,  and 
all  the  better  that  the  master  took  it  so  seriously.  "  I  'low 
it 's  cut  Barb'ry  up  more  'n  a  little.  She  sot  sech  store  by 
Tom.  An'  he  is  smart,  the  smartest  feller  you'd  find  f er 
books  an'  the  like.  But  what 's  the  use  a-bein'  so  smart  an' 
then  bein'  sech  a  simple  into  the  bargain  ?  I  say." 

Mason  did  not  like  to  ask  further  questions  about  Bar 
bara's  family  affairs.  He  could  hardly  bear  to  hear  Mely 


92  THE   GRAY  SONS 

canvass  them  in  this  unsympathetic  way.  But  there  was 
one  more  inquiry  that  he  made  about  Tom. 

"  Does  he  drink  ? " 

"  Mighty  leetle.  I  'xpect  he  takes  a  drop  ur  two  now  an' 
then,  jest  fer  company's  sake  when  he's  a-cavortin"roun' weth 
the  boys.  But  I  'low  he  hain't  got  no  rale  hankerin'  fer  the 
critter,  an'  he 's  that  fond  of  Barb'ry  'n'  'is  mother,  an'  they 
're  so  sot  on  'im,  that  he  would  n'  noways  like  to  git  reg'lar 
drunk  like.  But  he 's  always  a-gittin'  into  a  bad  crowd,  an' 
tryin'  some  deviltry  'r  nuther  j  out  uv  one  scrape  an'  into 
t'other,  kinduh  keerless  like;  head  up  an'  never  ketchin' 
sight  V  a  stump  tell  he 's  fell  over  it,  kerthump,  head  over 
heels.  His  uncle 's  been  a-schoolin'  'im,  an'  lately  he 's  gone 
'n'  put  'im  weth  Squire  Blackman  to  learn  to  be  a  lawyer ; 
but  now  he's  up  'n'  sent  him  home  fer  a  bad  bargain. 
Ut  's  no  go  't  the  law,  an'  he  won't  never  stan'  a  farm,  yeh 
know.  Too  high-sperrited." 

Possessed  of  a  share  of  Mely  McCord's  stock  of  informa 
tion  about  Barbara's  troubles,  Hiram  Mason  saw  that  his 
resolution  against  calling  on  his  pupil  at  her  own  house 
would  have  to  go  the  way  of  most  of  his  other  resolutions 
on  this  subject.  He  set  himself  to  find  arguments  against 
keeping  this  one,  but  he  was  perfectly  aware,  all  the  time, 
that  his  going  to  the  Graysons'  would  not  depend  on 
reasons  at  all.  He  reflected,  however,  that  Barbara's 
trouble  was  a  new  and  unforeseen  condition.  Besides,  his 
regulative  resolutions  had  been  so  far  strained  already  that 
they  were  not  worth  the  keeping.  It  is  often  thus  in  our 


BY  THE  LOOM  93 

dealings  with  ourselves ;    we  argue  from  defection  to  in 
dulgence. 

Mely  McCord  felt  sure  of  having  the  master's  company 
after  school  as  far  as  she  had  to  go  on  the  road  leading  to 
the  G-raysons'.  But  he  went  another  way  to  Pearson's, 
where  he  was  boarding  out  the  proportion  due  for  three 
pupils.  Mrs.  Pearson  had  intermitted  the  usual  diet  of  corn 
dodgers,  and  had  baked  a  skilletf  ul  of  hot  biscuits,  in  honor 
of  the  master ;  she  was  a  little  piqued  that  he  should  absorb 
them,  as  he  did,  in  a  perfectly  heartless  way,  and  she  even 
apologized  for  them,  asserting  that  they  were  not  so  good 
as  usual,  in  the  vain  hope  that  the  master  would  wake  up 
and  contradict  her.  As  soon  as  the  early  supper  was  over 
Hiram  left  the  house,  without  saying  anything  of  his  des 
tination.  He  took  a  "  short  cut n  across  a  small  prairie, 
then  through  the  woods,  and  across  Butt's  corn-field,  until 
he  came  out  on  the  road  near  the  place  at  which  he  had 
several  times  helped  Barbara  over  the  fence.  By  her  path 
through  the  meadow  he  reached  the  house  just  as  the  sum 
mer  twilight  was  making  the  vault  of  the  sky  seem  deeper 
and  mellowing  all  the  tones  in  the  landscape.  In  that  walk 
Mason's  mind  had  completely  changed  front.  Why  should 
he  try  to  maintain  a  fast-and-loose  relation  with  Barbara  ? 
She  was  in  need  of  his  present  sympathy  and  help.  Impulses 
in  his  nature,  the  strength  of  which  he  had  never  suspected, 
were  beating  against  the  feeble  barriers  he  had  raised.  Of 
what  use  was  this  battle,  which  might  keep  him  miserable 
awhile  longer,  but  which  could  end  in  but  one  way  ?  As  he 


U±  THE   GHAYSOXS 

walked  through  the  narrow  meadow  path,  in  the  middle  of 
which  the  heavy  overhanging  heads  of  timothy  grass,  now 
ready  for  the  scythe,  touched  one  another,  so  that  his  legs 
brushed  them  aside  at  every  step,  he  cast  away  the  last 
tatters  of  his  old  resolves.  The  dams  were  down ;  the  cur 
rent  might  flow  whither  it  listed.  He  would  have  it  out  with 
Barbara  this  very  evening,  and  end  the  conflict. 

It  is  by  some  such  only  half-rational  process  that  the  most 
important  questions  of  conduct  are  usually  decided some 
times  luckily  ;  in  other  cases,  to  the  blighting  of  the  whole 
life.  Is  it  not  rather  a  poor  fist  of  a  world  after  all,  this  in 
which  we  live,  where  the  most  critical  and  irrevocable  de 
cisions  must  be  made  while  the  inexperienced  youth  is  tossed 
with  gusts  of  passion  and  blinded  by  traditional  prejudices 
or  captivated  by  specious  theories  ?  The  selection  of  wives 
and  vocations,  the  two  capital  elements  in  human  happiness 
and  success,  is  generally  guided  by  nothing  higher  than  the 
caprice  of  those  whose  judgments  are  in  the  gristle.  Often 
the  whole  course  of  life  of  the  strong,  clear-seeing  man  yet 
to  come  is  changed  forever  by  a  boy's  whim.  The  old  alle- 
gorists  painted  the  young  man  as  playing  chess  with  the 
devil  ;  but  chess  is  a  game  of  skill.  What  the  young  man 
plays  is  often  a  child's  game  of  pitch  and  toss,  cross  or  pile, 
heads  or  tails,  for  stakes  of  fearful  magnitude.  Luckily  for 
Hiram,  as  you  and  I  know  from  our  present  acquaintance 
with  Barbara,  nothing  more  disastrous  than  disappointment 
was  likely  to  happen  to  him  from  his  inability  to  keep  his 
mortifying  resolves.  The  abandonment  of  them  had  sim- 


BY  THE  LOOM.  95 

plified  his  feelings  and  brought  him  present  relief.  When 
he  knocked  on  the  jamb  of  the  open  front  door  of  the  Gray- 
son  farm-house,  and  was  invited  to  come  in  by  the  mother, 
there  was  a  wholeness  in  his  feelings  and  purposes  to  which 
he  had  been  a  stranger  for  weeks. 

"  Barb'ry,"  said  Mrs.  Grayson  as  she  entered  the  kitchen, 
after  giving  Hiram  a  chair,  "here  's  the  master  come 
to  see  you.  I  'low  he  thought  you  mought  be  sick  ur 
sumpinV 

Barbara  sat  perched  on  the  loom-bench,  with  her  back  to 
the  web  she  had  been  weaving.  Just  now  she  was  peeling, 
quartering,  and  coring  summer  apples  to  dry  for  winter 
stores.  She  untied  her  apron  and  went  from  the  kitchen 
into  the  sitting-room,  where  Mason  was  looking  about,  as 
was  his  habit,  in  a  quizzical,  half -amused  way.  He  had 
noted  the  wide  stone  fire-place,  the  blackness  of  whose  inte 
rior  was  hidden  by  the  bushy  asparagus  tops  which  filled 
it,  and  the  wooden  clock  on  the  unpainted  mantel-piece, 
which  had  a  print  of  the  death-bed  of  George  Washington 
impaneled  in  its  door.  A  stairway  winding  up  in  one  cor 
ner  gave  picturesqueness  to  the  room;  diagonally  across 
from  this  was  a  high  post  bed ;  there  were  some  shuck-bot 
tom  chairs,  a  splint-bottom  rocking-chair,  and  a  bureau 
with  a  looking-glass  on  top.  The  floor  was  covered  with  a 
new  rag-carpet,  and  the  comfortable,  home-like  sentiment 
excited  in  Hiram's  mind  by  the  general  aspect  of  the  room 
was  enhanced  by  a  hearth  cricket,  which,  in  one  of  the 
crevices  of  the  uneven  flag-stones,  was  already  emitting  lit- 


96  THE  GRAYSONS 

tie  vibrant  snatches  like  the  black  fiddler  that  he  was,  tim 
ing  up  for  an  evening  performance. 

The  sight  of  Mason  dissipated  for  the  moment  the  clonds 
that  darkened  Barbara's  thoughts  5  she  saw  blue  sky  for 
the  first  time  since  Tom's  first  return.  It  was  a  pleased  and 
untroubled  face  that  met  his  gaze  when  she  extended  her 
hand  to  him. 

"  Howdy,  Mr.  Mason  ! " 

Mason  fixed  his  eyes  on  her  in  his  odd  fashion,  half  turn 
ing  his  head  aside,  and  regarding  her  diagonally. 

"  Well,  Barbara,  you  're  the  lost  sheep,"  was  his  greeting. 
"  I  was  afraid  you  would  n't  come  back  to  the  flock  if  I  did 
n't  come  into  the  wilderness  and  look  you  up." 

"  There  >s  been  such  a  lot  of  things  to  do  this  week,"  she 
answered  hurriedly,  "  I  did  n't  know  how  to  get  time  to  go 
to  school." 

This  was  truthful,  but  it  was  far  from  being  frank,  and 
it  was  not  on  these  terms  that  Mason  wished  to  meet  her. 
His  first  thought  was  to  put  her  more  at  ease. 

"  Can't  we  sit  out  on  the  porch  ?  "  he  said ;  "  I  'm  warm 
with  walking."  And  he  lifted  two  of  the  chairs  and  carried 
them  to  the  covered  porch.  There  would  soon  be  no  light 
outside  but  what  came  from  the  night  sky,  and  what  a  dim 
candle  in  the  sitting-room,  when  it  should  be  lighted,  might 
manage  to  spare  through  the  open  door.  Hiram  had  a  no 
tion  that  in  this  obscurity  he  could  coax  Barbara  out  of -the 
diplomatic  mood  into  the  plain  indicative.  But  before  they 
had  sat  down  he  had  changed  his  plan. 


BY  THE  LOOM  97 

"Hold  on,"  he  said,  more  to  himself  than  to  her;  and 
added,  "  What  were  you  doing  when  I  came  ?  " 

"  Only  peeling  some  apples  to  dry." 

"Let  me  help  you;  we  '11  have  an  apple-peeling  all  to 
ourselves." 

"No/7  said  Barbara,  hesitatingly;  but  Mason  went 
through  the  sitting-room  and,  opening  the  kitchen  door, 
thrust  his  head  through  and  said : 

"  May  n't  I  sit  out  there  and  help  Barbara  peel  apples, 
Mrs.  Grayson  ? " 

"  You  may  do  what  you  like,  Mr.  Mason,"  said  the  old 
lady,  pleased  with  his  familiarity ;  "  but  peeliu'  apples  ain't 
jest  the  kind  of  work  to  set  a  schoolmaster  at." 

"  Schoolmasters  a'n't  all  of  them  so  good  for  nothing  as 
you  think.  Come  on,  Barbara,  a  little  apple-peeling  will 
make  it  seem  like  home  to  me ;  and  this  living  'round  in 
other  people's  houses  has  made  me  homesick." 

Barbara  came  out  and  took  her  old  place  on  the  loom- 
bench,  beside  the  great  three-peck  basket  of  yellow  apples. 
Her  seat  raised  her  considerably  higher  than  Mason,  who 
occupied  a  low  chair.  In  front  of  Barbara  was  another 
chair,  on  which  sat  a  pan  to  hold  the  quarters  of  apples 
when  prepared  for  drying;  on  one  of  the  rungs  of  this 
Barbara  supported  her  feet.  The  candle  which  Mrs.  Gray- 
son  lighted  shed  a  dim  yellow  light  from  one  end  of  the 
high  smoke-blackened  mantel-shelf,  which  extended  across 
the  chimney  above  the  cavernous  kitchen  fire-place.  The 
joists  of  the  loft  were  of  heavy  logs,  and  these,  and  the 
9 


98  THE  GRAYSONS 

boards  which  overlaid  them,  and  all  the  woodwork  about 
this  kitchen,  were  softened  and  sombered  by  the  smoke 
that  had  escaped  from  the  great,  rude  chimney ;  for  the 
kitchen  was  the  original  log-cabin  built  when  Tom's  father, 
fresh  from  Maryland,  had  first  settled  on  the  new  farm ; 
the  rest  of  the  house  had  grown  from  this  kernel. 

The  mother,  who  had  not  dreamed  of  any  relation  be 
tween  Barbara  and  Hiram  Mason  more  friendly  than  that 
of  master  and  pupil,  was  a  little  surprised  at  the  apparently 
advanced  stage  of  their  acquaintance  ;  but  she  liked  it,  be 
cause  it  showed  that  the  schoolmaster  was  not  "  stuck  up," 
and  that  he  understood  that  "  our  Barb'ry  "  was  no  common 
girl.  Tom  looked  in  at  the  open  outside  door  of  the  kit 
chen  after  a  while,  and  was  pleased.  "  Barb  deserved  a  nice 
beau  if  ever  anybody  did,"  he  reflected,  and  it  might  keep 
her  from  feeling  so  bad  over  his  own  failures.  Not  wish 
ing  to  intrude,  and  wearied  to  exhaustion  with  his  first  day 
of  farm-work  since  his  return,  he  went  around  to  the  front 
door  and  through  the  sitting-room  upstairs  to  bed.  When 
the  mother  had  finished  " putting  things  to  rights"  she 
went  into  the  sitting-room,  and  the  apple-peelers  were  left 
with  only  the  loom,  the  reel,  and  the  winding-blades  for 
witnesses. 

They  talked  of  school,  of  their  studies,  and  of  many 
other  things  until  the  great  basket  of  apples  began  to  grow 
empty  while  the  basket  of  parings  and  corings  was  full. 
The  pan  of  apple-quarters  having  overflowed  had  been  re 
placed  by  a  pail,  which  was  also  nearly  full,  when,  after  a 


BY  THE  LOOM  99 

playful  scuffle  of  hands  in  the  basket,  Hiram  secured  the 
last  apple  and  peeled  it.  Then  laying  down  his  knife,  he 
asked : 

"  You  '11  be  back  at  school  next  week  ?  " 

Barbara  had  been  dreading  this  inquiry.  She  wished 
Mason  had  not  asked  it.  She  had  heartily  enjoyed  his 
society  while  they  talked  of  things  indifferent,  but  the 
question  brought  her  suddenly  and  painfully  back  into  the 
region  of  her  disappointment  and  perplexities. 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  can't  come  any  more.  Things  have  n't 
gone  right  with  us."  The  wide  spaces  between  her  words 
indicated  to  her  companion  the  effort  it  cost  to  allude  to 
her  affairs. 

Mason  was  more  than  ever  puzzled.  By  what  means 
could  he  establish  such  a  ground  of  confidence  between 
them  as  would  enable  him  to  enter  into  her  difficulties  and 
give  her,  at  the  least,  the  help  of  his  sympathy  and  coun 
sel?  There  seemed  no  way  so  good  as  that  by  direct  ap 
proach. 

"  Barbara,"  he  said,  drawing  his  chair  nearer  to  the  loom- 
bench  and  leaning  forward  toward  her,  "  won't  you  please 
tell  me  about  your  affairs,  if —  if  you  can  do  it?  I  don't 
want  to  intrude,  but  why  can't  you  let  me  be  your  best 
friend  and  — help  you  if  I  can  ?" 

This  speech  had  a  different  effect  from  what  Mason  had 
intended.  Barbara's  pride  resented  an  offer  of  help  from 
him.  Of  all  things,  she  did  not  wish  to  be  pitied  by  the 
man  she  was  beginning  to  love.  He  would  always  think  of 


100  THE  GRATSONS 

her  as  lower  than  himself,  and  she  had  too  much  pride  to 
relish  anything  like  the  role  of  Cophetua's  beggar  maid. 

"  I  can't  do  it,  Mr.  Mason  ;  there  's  nothing  anybody  can 
do."  She  spoke  with  her  eyes  downcast.  Having  ventured 
so  much  and  gained  nothing,  Mason  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  and  turned  his  head  about  to  what  a  photographer 
would  call  a  "  three-quarters  position,"  and  looked  at  Bar 
bara  from  under  his  brows  without  saying  anything  more. 
He  was  like  a  pilot  waiting  for  the  fog  to  lift.  This  silent 
regard  made  Barbara  uneasy.  She  could  not  help  feeling  a 
certain  appreciation  of  his  desire  to  help  her,  however  dis 
agreeable  it  might  be  to  her  feelings.  Perhaps  she  was 
wrong  to  repel  his  confidence  so  abruptly. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  about  poor  Tom  ?  "  she  said,  mak 
ing  so  much  concession  to  his  kindness,  but  half  swallow 
ing  the  rapidly  spoken  words. 

"  Yes,"  said  Hiram  ;  "  I  heard  he  had  got  into  a  scrape 
such  as  many  a  bright  boy  gets  into.  A  village  like  Mos 
cow  is  a  hard  place  for  a  boy  raised  in  the  country.  But 
he '11  pull  out  of  that." 

It  lifted  a  weight  from  Barbara's  mind  that  Mason  did 
not  take  a  too  serious  view  of  Tom.  She  wished,  however, 
that  he  would  not  look  at  her  so  long  in  that  askance 
fashion. 

"  Did  the  trouble  cost  you  much  money  ?  "  he  ventured 
to  inquire  after  a  while. 

"  Well,  no,  not  much  for  some  folks,  but  a  good  deal  for 
us  ;  we  're  rather  poor,  you  know."  There  is  a  pride  that 


BARBARA    AND     HIRAM     BY    THE    LOOM. 


BY  THE  LOOM  101 

conceals  poverty ;  there  is  a  greater  pride  that  makes  haste 
to  declare  it,  feeling  that  only  hidden  poverty  is  shameful. 
"  You  know  father  was  a  smart  man  in  some  ways/7  Bar 
bara  continued,  "  but  he  had  n't  any  knack.  He  lost  most 
of  his  money  before  he  came  to  Illinois;  and  then  when 
he  got  here  he  made  the  mistake,  that  so  many  made,  of 
settling  in  the  timber,  though  very  little  of  the  prairie 
had  been  taken  up  yet.  If  he  had  n't  been  afraid  of  the 
winters  on  the  prairie,  we  might  have  been  pretty  well  off; 
but  it 's  been  a  hard  struggle  opening  a  farm  in  the  woods. 
Then  we  have  had  nothing  but  misfortune.  My  father  died 
of  a  congestive  chill,  and  then  my  three  brothers  and  my 
sister  died,  and  Tom  and  I  are  all  that's  left  to  mother. 
And  there  are  doctor's  bills  to  pay  yet,  and  a  little  debt  on 
the  farm." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Hiram,  wounded  in  thinking  of  the  pain 
he  was  giving  Barbara  in  forcing  her  to  speak  thus  frankly 
of  the  family  troubles.  "  I  know  what  it  is.  Poverty  and 
I  are  old  acquaintances ;  regular  old  cronies.  She  ?s  going 
to  stand  by  my  side  till  I  graduate,  anyhow ;  but  as  I  have 
known  her  ever  since  I  was  born,  I  can  afford  to  laugh  in 
her  face.  There 's  nothing  like  being  used  to  a  thing." 

Barbara  made  no  reply  to  this.  Mason  sat  and  looked  at 
her  awhile  in  silence.  There  was  no  good  in  trying  to  help 
her  on  his  present  footing.  He  leaned  forward,  resting  his 
elbow  on  the  loom-bench  by  her  side. 

"  Look  here,  Barbara,"  he  said,  with  abrupt  decision,  "let's, 
you  and  me,  go  in  partnership  with  our  poverty  some 
9* 


102  THE  GRATSONS 

day,  and  see  what  11  come  of  it.  I  suppose,  so  far  as  money 
is  concerned,  the  equations  would  be  about  equal  without 
the  trouble  of  figuring  it  out." 

Barbara  looked  at  her  hands  in  her  lap  with  her  eyes  out) 
of  focus,  and  made  no  reply.  After  a  while  Hiram  spoke 
again. 

"  Did  I  —  make  you  mad,  Barbara  ? "  He  used  the  word 
"  mad  "  in  the  sense  attached  to  it  in  that  interior  country, 
meaning  angry. 

"  No,  not  mad,"  said  Barbara.  "  Not  that — but — I  don't 
know  what  to  say.  I  don't  believe  what  you  propose  can 
ever  be." 

Mason  waited  for  her  to  explain  herself,  but  she  did  not 
seem  to  be  able  to  get  her  own  consent.  At  length  he  got 
up  and  went  to  the  mantel-piece  and  took  down  Barbara's 
slate. 

" Let's  talk  about  algebra  awhile,"  he  said. 

Barbara  was  fond  enough  of  algebra,  but  it  seemed  droll 
that  Mason,  with  an  unsettled  proposition  of  marriage  on 
hand,  should  revert  to  his  favorite  study.  She  could  not 
see  what  he  was  writing,  but  when  he  passed  the  slate  to 
her,  she  read : 

a  =  another  lover. 
b  =  objections  to  H.  Mason. 
c  =  interfering  circumstances. 
x  =  a  -f  b  +  c. 

"Now,"  said  Mason,  when  she  looked  up,  "  I  'd  like  you  to 
help  me  to  get  the  exact  value  of  x  in  this  little  equation. 
It  ?s  a  kind  of  fortune-telling  by  algebra.  We  must  proceed 


BY  THE  LOOM  103 

by  elimination  ;  you  may  strike  out  such  of  the  letters  on 
the  right  side  of  the  last  equation  as  do  not  count  for  any 
thing." 

But  instead  of  proceeding  as  the  master  suggested,  Bar 
bara,  whose  reserve  was  partly  dissipated  by  her  amusement, 
took  the  pencil  that  he  offered  her,  and  after  a  moment's 
reflection  wrote  below  : 


"  I  never  saw  an  equation  more  to  my  taste,"  said  Hiram. 
"  If  it's  only  circumstances,  then  circumstances  and  I  are 
going  to  fight  it  out.  You  think  there  are  things  that  will 
keep  us  from  making  an  equation  between  Barbara  and 
Hiram?" 

"  There  wouldn't  be  any  equation,"  she  said,  looking  out 
of  half  -closed  eyelids,  as  she  always  did  when  speaking  with 
feeling.  "Your  family  is  an  educated  one,  and  your  father 
and  mother  would  n't  approve  of  us.  Mother  never  had  any 
chance  to  learn,  and  her  talk  is  very  old-fashioned,  but  she  's 
just  as  good  as  good  can  be,  all  the  same.  Tom's  unsteady  j 
I  hope  he  '11  get  over  that  yet  j  but  your  father  and  mother 
and  your  sisters  would  n't  like  it." 

"  Yes,  they  would,  if  they  knew  you,"  said  Mason,  with 
enthusiasm  ;  "  and,  besides,  I  don't  see  that  1  'm  bound  to 
get  their  consent." 

"  But  that  would  n't  change  matters,"  persisted  Barbara, 
despondingly.  "  If  they  did  n't  like  it,  it  would  n't  be  nice." 

"  Don't  you  bother  about  my  happiness,  Barbara.     If  I 


104  THE   GRAY  SONS 

have  you,  do  you  think  anything  else  will  trouble  me?' 
He  got  up  and  snuffed  the  candle  with  his  fingers  like  the 
brave  man  that  he  was. 

"  I  'm  not  bothering  about  you  at  all,"  said  Barbara. 
"  I  'm  not  so  good  as  you  think  I  am.  I  let  you  take  care 
of  yourself  in  this  matter;  you  're  strong,  and  such  things 
won't  worry  you."  She  was  picking  at  her  dress  as  she 
spoke.  "  Ever  since  you  said  what  you  did  when  you 
helped  me  over  the  fence  last,"  —  Barbara  took  a  long 
breath  as  she  thought  of  that  scene ;  she  had  often  retraced 
all  its  details  in  her  memory, —  "  I  've  known  that  you  felt 
so  toward  me  that  you  would  face  any  thing.  But  I — I 
could  n't  bear  it  if  your  folks  should  look  down  on  me  and 
I  be  —  your  wife."  It  was  hard  to  say  the  last  words  ;  they 
sounded  strangely,  and  when  they  .were  uttered,  the  sound  of 
them  put  her  into  a  trepidation  not  altogether  disagreeable. 

"  Look  down  on  you  f "  said  Hiram,  with  a  vehemence 
Barbara  had  never  known  him  to  manifest  before.  "  Do 
you  think  my  folks  are  such  idiots  ?  They  don't  meet  a 
person  like  you  often  enough  to  get  the  habit  of  looking 
down  on  such." 

"  But  you  don't  know  women  folks/'  said  Barbara. 

"  I  know  my  family  better  than  you  do,  and  you  Ve  got 
mighty  curious  notions  about  them  and  about  yourself. 
You  've  always  lived  here  in  the  woods,  and  you  don't  know 
what  you  're  worth." 

He  lifted  the  empty  apple-basket  out  of  the  way  and  sat 
down  by  her. 


BY  THE  LOOM  105 

"  Now,  Barbara,  you  say  you  know  how  I  feel  toward  you. 
You  are  the  girl  of  all  girls  in  the  world  for  me.  And  now 
you  won't  spurn  me,  will  you'? "  he  said  entreatingly. 

Barbara's  lips  quivered  and  she  seemed  about  to  lose  con 
trol  of  herself.  However,  after  a  little  period  of  silence 
and  struggle,  she  suppressed  her  feelings  sufficiently  to 
speak : 

"  I  could  n't  spurn  you,"  she  said.  Then,  after  another 
pause :  "  Maybe  you  don't  care  any  more  for  me  than  I  do 
for  you.  But  I  'm  in  such  trouble  —  that  I  can't  tell  what 
to  say.  Won't  you  wait  and  give  me  a  little  time  ?  Things 
may  be  better  after  a  while." 

"How  long  shall  I  stay  away?  A  week?"  Mason's 
voice  had  a  note  of  protest  in  it. 

"  Don't  be  hurt,"  she  said,  lifting  her  eyes  timidly  to  his. 
"  But  I  'm  in  such  a  hard  place.  Let  me  have  two  weeks 
or  so  to  think  about  it,  and  see  how  things  are  going  to 
turn."  It  was  not  that  Barbara  saw  any  chance  for  a 
change  of  circumstances,  but  that  she  could  not  resolve  to 
decide  the  question  either  way,  and  wished  to  escape  from 
her  present  perplexity  by  postponement. 

"  Just  as  you  say,"  said  Mason,  regretfully ;  "  but  I  tell 
you,  Barbara,  it 's  two  weeks  of  dead  lost  time." 

Then  he  got  up  and  held  out  his  hand  to  her. 

"  Good-bye,  Barbara." 

"  Good-bye,  Mr.  Mason." 

"  Oh,  call  me  Hiram !  It 's  more  friendly,  and  you  call 
all  the  other  young  men  by  their  first  names." 


106  THE   GRATSONS 

"  But  you  're  the  master.77 

"  I  'm  not  the  master  of  you,  that  7s  clear.  Besides,  you 
?ve  left  school."  He  was  holding  her  hand  in  gentle  protest 
all  this  time. 

"  Well,  good-bye— Hiram  !  "  said  Barbara,  with  a  visible 
eifort  which  ended  in  a  little  laugh. 

Mason  let  go  of  her  hand  and  turned  abruptly  and 
walked  out  of  the  door,  and  then  swiftly  down  the  meadow 
path.  Barbara  stood  and  looked  after  him  as  long  as  she 
could  see  his  form ;  then  she  slowly  shut  and  latched  the 
kitchen  door  and  came  and  covered  with  ashes  the  remain 
ing  embers  of  the  fire,  and  took  the  candle  from  the  mantel 
piece  and  went  through  the  now  vacant  sitting-room  to  her 
chamber  above. 


X 

THE  AFFAIR  AT  TIMBER  CREEK  CAMP  MEETING 

[HEN  Tom  Grayson  found  himself  suddenly 
stranded  on  the  farmstead  in  Hubbard  Town 
ship  he  went  to  work  to  learn  again  the  arts 
half  forgotten  during  his  three-years7  absence 
in  Moscow.  It  was  necessary  to  put  his  soft  hands  to 
the  plow,  and  to  burn  his  fair  face  in  the  hot  sun  of  the 
hay-field.  With  characteristic  heedlessness  of  results  he 
set  out,  on  the  very  first  day  after  his  return,  to  mow 
alongside  the  stalwart  hired  man,  Bob  McCord,  the  father 
of  Mely.  Bob  lived  in  a  little  cabin  not  far  from  the  Gray- 
son  place,  and  since  Tom  left  the  farm  he  had  done  most  of 
the  work  for  Mrs.  Grayson.  He  was  commonly  known  as 
"  Big  Bob,"  because  he  had  a  half-brother  of  sinister  birth 
who  was  older  than  himself,  but  a  small  man,  and  who  for 
distinction  was  "  Little  Bob."  Big  Bob  fulfilled  his  name 
in  every  dimension.  His  chest  was  deep,  his  arms  were 
gigantic  in  their  muscularity,  and  no  man  had  ever  seen  his 
legs  show  signs  of  exhaustion.  His  immense  muscles  were 
softened  in  outline  by  a  certaiu  moderate  rotundity  j  his 

107 


108  THE   GRATSONS 

well-distributed  adipose  was  only  one  of  many  indications 
of  his  extraordinary  physical  thrif  tiness.     In  more  than  one 
stand-up  fight  he  had  demonstrated  his  right  to  the  title  of 
champion  of  the  county.     Yet  he  was  a  boyishly  good- 
natured  man,  with  no  desire  to  hurt  anybody,  and  he  never 
fought  from  choice.     But  every  rising  fisticuff er  within  half 
a  hundred  miles  round  had  heard  of  Bob's  strength,  and  the 
more  ambitious  of  these  had  felt  bound  to  "  dare  »  him.     It 
was  not  consonant  with  the  honor  of  such  a  man  as  Bob  to 
"  take  a  dare  ";  so  against  first  one  and  then  another  aspiring 
hero  he  had  fought,  until  at  length  there  was  none  that  ven 
tured  any  more  to  "give  a  dare"  to  the  victor  of  so  many 
battles.     His  physical  perfections  were  not  limited  to  mere 
bull  strength :  no  man  had  a  keener  eye  or  a  steadier  hand ; 
none  could  send  a  rifle-ball  to  its  mark  with  a  more  unerring 
aim.     Had  he  lived  in  the  days  of  the  Saxon  invasion  of 
England,  McCord  would  have  stood  high  on  the  list  of  those 
renowned  for  exploits  of  strength  and  daring,  the  very  dar 
ling  hero  of  the  minstrel.    Our  own  Indian  wars  of  the  sev 
enteenth  and  eighteenth  centuries  brought  renown  to  just 
such  men  as  he,  semi-barbarian  path-makers  for  the  advance 
of  civilization.     He  had  lagged  a  generation  late.     In  the 
peaceful  time,  when  strength  of  muscle  was  secondary  to 
mental  power,  and  when  a  sure  aim  was  no  longer  important 
for  the  defense  of  one's  life,  nor  the  chief  means  for  winning 
one's  meat,  the  powerful  Bob  McCord  saw  degenerate  men, 
whom  he  could  have  held  at  arms-length,  prevail  over  him 
in  the  struggle  for  subsistence.    For  though  he  was  capable 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  TIMBER  CREEK  CAMP  MEETING     109 

of  hard  work  he  could  never  endure  steady  application  ;  his 
nature  was  under  mortgage  to  adventurous  ancestors,  the 
ancient  Indian-fighters  and  scouts  of  the  Appalachian  coun 
try,  and  those  more  remote  forefathers,  the  untamed  emi 
grants  who  had  been  almost  expelled  from  the  Scottish  border 
in  the  time  of  the  Stuarts,  to  help  resettle  the  devastated 
north  of  Ireland,  to  say  nothing  of  the  yet  wilder  Irish 
women  with  whom  they  had  mated.  Nothing  less  than  the 
sound  of  the  cup  scraping  on  the  bottom  of  the  family  meal- 
box  would  impel  Bob  to  work.  Every  wind  that  came  from 
the  great  sea  of  grass  to  the  westward  brought  him  the  whir 
of  the  wings  of  prairie-hens ;  dreams  of  bear-hunting  filled 
his  mind  whenever  he  looked  into  the  recesses  of  the  woods. 
At  sight  of  the  rising  moon  his  hunter's  soul  imagined  the  in 
numerable  deer  which  at  that  hour  come  from  their  coverts 
to  graze  on  the  prairies.  Every  stream  tantalized  him  with 
the  thought  of  darting  perch,  and  great  prowling  cat-fish 
hidden  beneath  its  surface,  and  challenging  him  to  catch 
them  if  he  could.  If,  as  we  are  taught  to  believe,  the  man 
liness  of  the  English  aristocracy  and  that  of  the  American 
apery  is  only  kept  alive  by  outdoor  sports,  how  much  their 
superior  in  surplus  manhood  must  such  a  man  as  Bob  Mc- 
Cord  be !  In  his  estimation  no  days  were  counted  a  part  of 
human  life  except  those  passed  in  circumventing  and  taking 
the  wild  creatures  of  the  woods  or  the  prairie,  and  those 
others  spent  in  the  rude  fun  of  musters,  barbecues,  elections, 
corn-shuckings,  wood-choppings,  and  like  assemblages, 

where  draughts  from  a  generous  big-bellied  bottle,  with  a 
10 


110  THE   GRAYSOXS 

twisted  neck,  alternated  with  athletic  feats,  practical  jokes, 
and  tales  as  rude  as  the  most  unblushing  of  those  told  by 
pious  pilgrims  to  Canterbury  in  the  old  religious  time. 

It  was  alongside  this  son  of  Anak  that  Tom  set  himself 
to  do  a  full  day's  work  at  the  start.  The  severity  of  labor 
accorded  well  with  his  pungent  feeling  of  penitence.  Big 
Bob  regarded  him  as  he  might  any  other  infant,  not  un 
kindly  ;  he  even  had  a  notion  that  the  Widow  Grayson  and 
her  children  were  in  some  sense  under  his  care,  and  he  did 
not  wish  any  harm  to  come  to  the  boy,  but  a  practical  joke 
was  too  good  a  thing  to  be  missed.  For  two  hours  and  a 
half,  on  that  morning  of  Tom's  appearance  in  the  field  with 
a  scythe,  Bob  did  not  once  stop  to  take  the  usual  rests. 
Tom  felt  inevitable  exhaustion  coming  on,  though  he  cut  a 
much  narrower  swath  than  his  companion.  McCord's  her 
culean  right  knee  was  bare,  having  that  morning  forced 
itself  through  his  much-bepatched  trousers  of  butternut- 
dyed  cotton  cloth.  While  swinging  his  wider-sweeping 
scythe  at  a  desperate  rate,  he  kept  telling  Tom  stories  of 
adventure  and  the  well-worn  joe-millers  of  the  log-cabin 
firesides,  never  seeming  to  notice  the  poor  fellow's  breath 
less  endeavors  to  keep  up  or  his  ever-narrowing  swath. 
Only  when  at  length  he  turned  and  looked  at  Tom's  face  and 
perceived  that  the  persistency  of  his  will  might  carry  him 
too  far,  he  said,  as  with  his  scythe  he  picked  some  bunches 
,  of  good  grass  from  the  edge  of  an  elder  patch  and  cast 
a  wistful  glance  at  the  jug  standing  in  a  cool  fence  corner : 

"  Looky  h-yer,  Tom,  you  >re  a-gittin'  kind-uh  white-like 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  TIMBER  CREEK  CAMP  MEETING    111 

about  the  gills,  un  >f  you  try  to  keep  up  weth  me,  yer  hide 
'11  be  on  the  fence  afore  night." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Tom,  who  found  himself  so  thor 
oughly  beaten  that  there  was  no  use  in  denying  it. 

"  Well,  hang  yer  scythe  on  that  air  red-haw  over  there 
un  take  a  leetle  rest,  un  then  try  a  pitch-fork  awhile.  I 
'lowed  I  'd  see  what  sort  uv  stuff  you  've  got,  seein  's  you 
wuz  so  almighty  gritty.  A  bigger  man  'n  you  could  n't 
hold  agin  me  " ;  and  Bob  let  the  amusement  he  felt  at  Tom's 
discomfiture  escape  in  a  long  hearty  chuckle,  rising  at 
length  into  a  loud  laugh,  as  he  reversed  his  scythe  and  fell 
to  whetting  it,  making  the  neighboring  woods  ring  with 
the  tune  he  beat  on  the  resonant  metal, —  a  kind  of  accom 
paniment  to  the  briskness  of  his  spirit. 

And  now  Barbara  appeared  bringing  the  snack  that  was 
commonly  served  to  the  mowers  in  the  forenoon.  Bob 
hung  up  his  scythe,  and,  having  taken  some  whisky,  joined 
the  exhausted  Tom  under  the  shady  boughs  of  a  black  wal 
nut.  Barbara  uncovered  her  basket,  which  contained  an 
apple-pie  to  be  divided  between  the  two  and  a  bottle  of 
sweet  milk.  Tom  had  stretched  himself  in  sheer  exhaustion 
on  a  swath  of  hay. 

"You  foolish  boy/'  said  Barbara.  "You  've  gone  at 
your  work  too  brash.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  your 
self.  Here,  take  some  of  this  pie ;  and  don't  you  work  so 
hard  the  rest  of  the  day." 

"  Tom,"  said  Bob,  speaking  with  his  mouth  full  of  pie, 
"  'f  I  had  the  eddication  you  've  got,  you  would  n't  ketch 


112  THE   GRATSONS 

me  in  this  yere  hot  sun.  I  >d  take  a  school.  What 's  eddi- 
cation  good  fer,  anyhow,  ef  't  ain't  to  git  a  feller  out  uli 
the  hot  sun  ? » 

But  for  the  present  Tom  resolved  to  stick  faithfully  to 
his  toil.  As  the  days  wore  on,  and  he  became  accustomed 
to  the  strain,  he  found  the  work  a  sedative  j  he  was  usually 
too  tired  to  think  much  of  his  disappointment.  Only  the 
face  of  Rachel  Albaugh  haunted  his  visions  in  lonely  hours, 
and  at  times  a  rush  of  indignant  feeling  towards  George 
Lockwood  disturbed  his  quiet. 

In  the  early  days  of  August  there  came  a  time  of  com 
parative  leisure.  The  summer  harvests  were  over,  and  the 
fields  of  tall  corn  had  been  "  laid  by n  after  the  last  plow 
ing.  Then  Illinois  had  a  breathing  spell  5  and  shutting  up 
its  house,  and  hitching  up  its  horse,  and  taking  all  the 
children,  it  went  to  visit  its  "  relations,"  staying  a  week  at 
a  place.  Farmers  frequented  the  town  to  meet  old  friends 
and  get  the  better  of  them  in  swapping  horses ;  and  in  this 
time  of  relaxation  came  the  season  of  Baptist  Associations 
and  Methodist  Camp-meetings  and  two-days7  Basket  Meet 
ings — jolly  religious  picnics,  where  you  could  attend  to 
your  soul's  salvation  and  eat  "  roas'in'  ears  "  with  old  friends 
in  the  thronged  recesses  of  the  forests,  among  a  people  who 
were  perhaps  as  gregarious  as  any  the  world  has  ever  pro 
duced.  Children  looked  forward  to  this  gypsying  with 
eagerness,  and  adults  gave  themselves  over  to  it  with  the 
abandon  of  children.  What  night-scenes  there  were! 
Within  the  oval  of  tents  at  a  camp-meeting  two  great  plat- 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  TIMBER  CREEK  CAMP  MEETING     113 

forms  were  raised  on  posts  six  or  eight  feet  high  and  cov 
ered  with  earth ;  on  these  were  built  blazing  bonfires,  illumi 
nating  all  the  space  inclosed  by  the  tents  and  occupied  by 
the  enthusiastic  assembly,  which,  as  one  great  chorus,  made 
the  wide  forest  vocal  with  a  tide  of  joyous  or  pathetic  song. 
But  there  were  two  poles  to  the  magnetism  of  a  camp-meet 
ing.  In  the  region  of  outer  blackness,  quite  beyond  the 
reach  of  any  illumination  from  platform  bonfires  or  pulpit 
eloquence,  there  were  also  assemblies  of  those  who  were 
attracted  by  the  excitement,  but  to  whom  the  religious  in 
fluences  were  a  centrifugal  force.  Here  jollity  and  all  con 
ceivable  deviltry  rejoiced  also  in  a  meet  companionship. 

The  Great  Union  Camp-Meeting  was  held  in  the  first  half 
of  August  on  the  Timber  Creek  camp-ground,  only  a  mile 
and  a  half  from  the  Grayson  place.  The  mother  and  Bar 
bara  went  every  evening  and  came  back  with  accounts  of 
the  attendance,  of  the  old  friends  encountered,  and  of  the 
sermons  of  favorite  preachers.  They  told  how  "  powerfully  " 
the  elder  had  preached,  and  how  the  eloquent  young  preacher, 
who  was  junior  on  the  next  circuit,  had  carried  all  before 
him  in  a  pathetic  exhortation.  But  Tom  showed  no  desire 
to  attend.  He  was  slowly  sinking  into  a  depression  quite 
unusual  with  him.  He  had  been  accustomed  to  the  excite 
ment  of  the  town,  and  the  prospect  of  a  life  of  dull  routine 
on  a  farm  ate  into  his  spirit  like  a  biting  rust.  Barbara 
amused  him  with  stories  of  the  camp-meeting  ;  she  told  him 
of  the  eccentric  German  exhorter  whose  broken  English  she 
mimicked,  and  of  the  woman  she  had  heard  relate  in  a  niorn- 
10* 


114  THE   GEATSONS 

ing  "  speaking-meeting  "  that,  when  convinced  of  the  sin  of 
wearing  jewelry,  she  had  immediately  taken  off  her  ear-rings 
and  given  them  to  her  sister.  These  things  lightened  his 
spirit  but  for  a  moment ;  he  would  relapse  soon  into  the 
same  state  of  mental  lassitude,  or  more  acute  melancholy. 
Barbara  endeavored  to  cheer  him  with  projects  ;  he  could 
take  a  school  the  next  winter,  and  with  the  money  earned 
pay  his  board  somewhere  in  town  and  take  up  the  study  of 
law  again.  But  all  of  Barbara's  projects  were  moderate  and 
took  full  account  of  difficulties.  Tom  had  little  heart  for  a 
process  that  demanded  plodding  and  patient  waiting;  nor 
did  any  of  Barbara's  suggestions  hold  out  any  prospect  of 
his  recovering  his  ground  with  Rachel,  which  was  the  thing 
he  most  desired. 

One  evening,  as  he  finished  a  supper  which  he  had  eaten 
with  little  relish  and  in  silence,  he  pushed  back  his  chair 
and  sat  moodily  looking  into  the  black  cave  of  the  kitchen 
fire-place,  where  the  embers  were  smoldering  under  the 
ashes.  Then  when  his  mother  had  left  the  kitchen,  and 
Barbara  was  clearing  away  the  plates,  he  said  : 

"  The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  worse  I  feel  about  George 
Lockwood.  The  tricky  villain  got  me  into  that  scrape  and 
then  told  all  about  it  where  he  knew  it  would  do  me  the 
most  harm.  I  'd  just  like  to  shoot  him." 

"  You'd  better  shoot  him  and  get  yourself  hanged  !  "  said 
Barbara  with  impatience.  "  Tliat  would  mend  matters, 
wouldn't  it t» 

"  'T  would  n't  matter  much  to  me,"  said  Tom.     "  This 


TEE  AFFAIR  AT  TIMBER  CREEK  CAMP  MEETING     115 

country  life  does  n't  suit  me  ;  I  'd  just  as  well  be  out  of  it, 
and  they  do  say  hanging  is  an  easy  way  of  dying."  This 
last  was  spoken  with  a  grim  smile. 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  think  of  us?  said  Barbara. 

"  I  'in  more  trouble  than  good  to  you  and  mother." 

"  And  now  if  you  would  only  commit  a  crime  "  —  Barbara 
was  looking  at  him  with  a  concentrated  gaze  —  "  that  would 
put  an  end  to  all  mother's  sorrows  j  she  would  soon  die  in 
torture,  and  I  would  be  left  alone  in  the  world  to  be  pointed 
at  by  people  who  would  say  in  a  whisper :  '  That 's  the  sister 
of  the  fellow  that  was  hanged.' "  And  Barbara  caught  her 
breath  with  a  little  gasp  as  she  turned  away. 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  that  way,  Barb !  Of  course  I  don't  mean 
to  do  anything  of  the  sort.  It 's  a  kind  of  relief  to  talk 
sometimes,  and  I  do  feel  bitter  enough." 

Barbara  turned  sharply  on  him  again  and  said  :  "  That 's 
j  ast  the  way  to  get  to  be  a  murderer  —  keep  stirring  up  your 
spite.  After  a  while  the  time  '11  come  when  you  can't  con 
trol  yourself,  may  be,  and  then  you  '11  do  something  that 
you  only  meant  to  think  about." 

Tom  shuddered  a  little  and,  feeling  uncomfortable  under 
Barbara's  gaze,  got  up  and  started  away.  But  Barbara 
followed  him  and  caught  hold  of  his  arm,  and  pulled  him 
around  till  she  could  look  in  his  face,  and  said,  with  more 
feeling  than  she  liked  to  show : 

"  Look  here,  Tom  !  Give  me  your  word  and  honor  that 
you  '11  put  all  such  thoughts  out  of  your  mind." 

"  Of  course  I  will,  Sis,  if  you  think  there  's  any  danger." 


116  THE   GRATSONS 

"  And  come  and  go  over  to  the  camp-meeting  to-night 
with  mother  and  me.  It  '11  do  you  good  to  see  somebody 
besides  the  cows." 

"  All  right,"  said  Tom,  shaking  himself  to  get  rid  of  his 
evil  spirit,  and  remembering,  as  he  went  out  to  harness  old 
Blaze-face  to  the  wagon,  that  he  would  stand  a  chance  of 
catching  a  glimpse  of  Rachel  in  the  light  of  the  torches. 

The  preaching  was  vigorous  and  stirring,  and  the  ex- 
horter,  who  came  after  the  preacher,  told  many  pathetic 
stories,  which  deeply  moved  a  people  always  eager  to  be  ex 
cited.  The  weird  scene  no  doubt  contributed  by  its  spec 
tacular  effect  to  increase  the  emotion.  The  bonfires  on  the 
platforms  illuminated  the  circle  of  white  tents,  wThich  stood 
out  against  the  wall  of  deep  blackness  in  the  forest  behind  ; 
the  light  mounted  a  hundred  feet  and  more  through 
the  thick  branches  of  lofty  beech  and  maple  trees,  and  was 
reflected  from  the  under  side  of  leaves  quivering  in  the 
breeze.  The  boughs  and  foliage,  illuminated  from  below, 
had  an  unreal  and  unworldly  aspect.  No  imagery  of  the 
preacher  could  make  the  threatened  outer  darkness  of  the 
lost  so  weird  to  the  imagination  as  this  scene,  in  which  the 
company  of  simple-minded  people  found  themselves  in  the 
presence  of  a  savage  Nature,  and  in  a  sphere  of  light  bounded 
on  every  hand  by  a  blackness  as  of  darkness  primeval. 

Tom  paid  little  attention  to  the  eloquence  of  the  preacher 
or  to  the  tearful  words  of  him  who  came  after.  At  first  he 
was  interested  and  even  excited  by  the  scene ;  he  watched 
the  flickering  of  the  great  shadows  of  the  tree  trunks  as 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  TIMBER  CREEK  CAMP  MEETING     117 

the  platform  fires  rose  and  fell  j  but  presently  he  set  him 
self  to  searching  under  the  large  straw  bonnets  for  a  face. 
He  knew  well  that  the  sight  of  that  face  could  not  make 
him  happy,  but  he  seemed  driven  by  some  evil  impulse  to 
seek  for  it.  If  Kachel  was  there  he  did  not  find  her.  When 
the  exhorter  had  closed  his  artless  string  of  disconnected 
anecdotes  with  an  equally  artless  appeal,  and  a  hymn  was 
announced,  Tom  whispered  to  Barbara  that  he  would  go 
and  see  if  the  horse  was  all  right,  and  would  meet  her  at 
the  door  of  the  Mount  Zion  tent  when  meeting  should  "  let 
out."  Then  as  the  congregation  rose,  he  went  out  by  a 
passage  between  two  of  the  tents  into  the  woods.  The 
"  exercises  "  lasted  a  full  hour  longer,  and  it  was  half -past 
ten  before  the  presiding  elder  gave  the  benediction.  Bar 
bara  and  her  mother  went  to  the  door  of  the  Mount  Zion 
tent,  where  they  stood  watching  the  moving  people  and 
waiting  for  Tom.  Mely  McCord,  who  was  to  ride  home 
with  them,  was  talking  in  her  fluent  way  to  Barbara  when 
an  excited  man  rushed  into  the  space  within  the  tents,  and, 
finding  himself  obstructed  by  the  groups  of  people  in  the 
aisles,  ran  hurriedly  across  the  boards  that  served  for  back 
less  benches  until  he  reached  the  great  rude  pulpit.  He 
addressed  a  word  to  the  white-haired  presiding  elder,  who 
was  at  that  moment  standing  on  the  steps  of  the  stand, 
engaged  in  shaking  hands  with  old  friends  from  all  parts 
of  his  district.  Then  the  new-comer  seized  the  tin  horn 
that  hung  against  a  tree,  and  which  was  used  to  call  the 
people  to  meeting.  With  this  in  his  hand  he  mounted  the 


118  THE   GRAYSONS 

rude  board  rostrum  and  blew  a  long,  harsh  blast.  Part  of 
the  people  out  of  curiosity  had  stopped  talking  when  he 
made  his  appearance,  and  when  the  strident  tin  horn 
ceased,  there  was  a  momentary  murmur  and  then  the  still 
ness  of  death,  except  for  confused  cries  of  excitement  in 
the  remote  outer  regions,  which  now  became  audible.  Then 
the  man  on  the  platform  said,  in  a  breathless  voice  : 

"  A  man  has  been  killed  in  the  woods  outside  of  the  camp 
ground.  The  murderer  has  fled.  The  sheriff  is  wanted ! " 

"  Here  he  is ! "  cried  some  voices,  and  the  sheriff  stood  up 
on  a  bench  and  waved  his  hand  to  the  messenger,  who 
came  down  and  communicated  in  a  few  words  what  he 
knew  of  the  murder. .  The  sheriff  then  hurriedly  departed. 

'*  Sit  down  there,  mother,"  gasped  Barbara.  "  Mely,  you 
stay  by  mother." 

Then  Barbara's  slight  form  pushed  through  the  crowd, 
until  her  progress  was  arrested  by  a  dense  knot  of  eager 
inquirers  that  encompassed  the  man  who  had  brought  the 
news.  It  was  quite  impossible  to  get  within  twenty  feet  of 
him,  or  to  hear  anything  he  was  saying ;  but  bits  of  intelli 
gence  percolated  through  the  layers  of  humanity  that  en 
veloped  him.  Barbara  could  only  wait  and  listen.  At  last 
a  man  a  little  nearer  the  radiating  center  said  in  reply  to 
the  query  of  one  who  stood  next  to  her : 

"  It 's  George  Lockwood,  that  clerks  for  Wooden  &  Sny- 
der  down  't  Moscow,  that  is  killed,  but  I  can't  find  out  who 
't  wuz  done  it." 

Barbara's  heart  stood  still  within  her  for  a  moment. 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  TIMBER  CREEK  CAMP  MEETING     119 

Then  dreading  to  hear  more,  she  pushed  out  of  the  ever- 
increasing  crowd  and  reached  her  mother. 

"  Come,  mother ;  we  must  get  home  quick." 

"What  >s  the  matter,  Barb'ry?  Who  's  killed?'7  asked 
Mely  McCord. 

"  I  don't  know  anything,  only  we  must  get  home.  Quick, 
mother ! "  she  was  impelled  by  instinct  to  save  her  mother 
as  long  as  possible  from  the  shock  she  felt  impending.  But 
it  was  of  no  use. 

"  What  ?s  the  matter,  Sam ;  can  you  make  out  ? "  cried  a 
man  near  her  to  one  just  emerging  from  the  crowd  about 
the  messenger. 

"  W'y,  they  say  as  Tom  Grayson  's  shot  an7  killed  a  feller 
from  Moscow,  an'  Tom  's  made  off,  an'  can't  be  found. 
They  's  talk  of  lynchin'  him." 

Mrs.  Grayson's  lips  moved;  she  tried  to  speak,  but  in 
vain ;  the  sudden  blow  had  blanched  her  face  and  paralyzed 
her  speech.  It  was  pitiable  to  see  her  ineffectual  effort  to 
regain  control  of  herself.  At  length  she  sank  down  on  a 
shuck-bottom  chair  by  the  door  of  the  tent. 

"  Yer  ?s  some  smelling-salts,"  said  a  woman  standing  by, 
and  she  thrust  forward  her  leathery  hand  holding  an  un 
corked  bottle  of  ammonia. 

"  He  did  n't  do  it,"  murmured  Mrs.  Grayson,  when  she 
had  revived  a  little.  il  Our  Tommy  would  n't  do  sech  a 
thing.  Go  up  there," — and  she  pointed  to  the  pulpit, — 
"  you  go  up  there,  Barb'ry,  an'  tell  the  folks  't  our  Tommy 
never  done  it." 


120  THE  GRATSONS 

"  Come,  mother ;  let  's  go  home,"  said  Barbara  faintly, 
for  all  her  energy  had  gone  now. 

"  I  '11  go  with  you,"  said  Mely. 

But  Mrs.  Grayson  did  not  wish  to  go  ;  she  was  intent  on 
staying  in  order  to  tell  the  folks  that  Tommy  «  never,  never 
done  sech  a  thing." 

She  yielded  at  length  to  the  gentle  compulsion  of  Barbara 
and  Mely  and  the  neighbors  who  gathered  about,  and  got 
into  the  wagon.  Mely,  who  knew  every  inch  of  the  road, 
took  the  reins,  and  drove  slowly  toward  the  Grayson  house, 
picking  a  way  among  the  stumps,  roots,  and  holes  of  the 
new  road. 


XI 

FRIENDS   IN   THE   NIGHT 

HE  ride  seemed  to  Barbara  almost  interminable. 
If  she  could  have  left  her  half -distracted  mother 
she  would  have  got  out  of  the  wagon  and  run 
through  the  fields,  in  hope  of  finding  Tom  and 
knowing  from  him  the  whole  truth,  and  making  up  her 
mind  what  was  to  be  done.  "When  at  length  the  wagon 
reached  the  gate  in  front  of  the  Grayson  house,  Bob 
McCord  was  in  waiting.  He  had  heard  that  a  bear  had  been 
seen  on  Broad  Run,  and  had  left  the  camp-meeting  early, 
intent  on  a  departure  before  daylight  in  pursuit  of  that 
"  varmint."  He  had  known  nothing  of  the  shooting,  but  he 
told  Barbara  that,  when  he  came  near  the  Grayson  house, 
he  had  seen  Tom  run  across  the  road  and  into  the  house, — 
and  that  Tom  came  out  again  almost  at  once,  and  reached 
the  gate  in  time  to  meet  the  sheriff  and  give  himself  up. 
The  sheriff  had  dismounted  one  of  the  men  with  him,  and 
putting  Tom  in  the  saddle  they  had  gone  toward  Moscow 
on  a  gallop.  Bob  was  n't  near  enough  to  hear  what  Tom  had 
said  when  the  sheriff  took  him  ;  but  knowing  that  something 
must  be  wrong,  he  had  waited  for  the  return  of  the  wagon. 

n 


122  THE   GEATSONS 

It  was  some  relief  to  the  tension  of  Barbara's  feelings  to 
know  that  Tom  was  now  in  the  hands  of  the  lawful  authori 
ties  and  well  on  his  way  to  Moscow,  where  he  would  be  out 
of  the  reach  of  the  angry  crowd  that  was  surging  to  and  fro 
around  the  camp-meeting. 

But  there  followed  the  long  night  of  uncertainty.  The 
mother  sat  moaning  in  her  chair,  only  rousing  herself  enough 
now  and  then  to  assure  some  newly  arrived  neighbor  that 
"  poor  Tom  never  done  it."  Barbara  confided  only  to  Mely 
McCord  the  very  faint  hope  she  entertained  that  Tom  was 
not  guilty.  She  could  n't  believe  that  he  would  break  his 
solemn  promise,  made  that  very  evening.  But  in  her  secret 
heart  she  could  not  get  over  the  fact  that  George  Lockwood 
was  lying  in  the  woods  stark  and  dead,  and  no  one  was  so 
likely  to  have  killed  him  as  her  impetuous  brother. 

About  1  o'clock,  the  dreadful  monotony  of  the  night  was 
dreadfully  broken  by  the  arrival  of  the  deputy-sheriff.  He 
spoke  in  an  unsympathetic,  official  voice,  but  in  a  manner 
externally  respectful.  He  must  search  Tom's  room;  and 
so,  taking  a  candle,  he  went  to  the  room  alone,  and  soon 
came  back  bringing  an  old-fashioned  single-barrel,  flint-lock 
pistol,  of  the  kind  in  use  in  the  early  part  of  the  century. 
It  had  belonged  to  Tom's  father,  and  the  officer  had  found 
it  in  one  of  the  drawers  in  the  room.  Barbara  sat  down  and 
shut  her  eyes  as  the  deputy  passed  through  the  sitting-room 
with  the  weapon,  but  Mrs.  Gray  son  called  the  officer  to  her. 

"  I  say,  Mister  —  I  don't  know  your  name.  Let  me  speak 
to  you." 


FRIENDS  IN  THE  NIGHT  123 

"  Yes,  ma'am/7  said  the  man,  "  My  name  >s  Markham  " ; 
and  he  came  and  stood  near  her. 

"  Air  you  the  son  of  Lijy  Markham  ? "  Mrs.  Grayson 
always  identified  people  by  recalling  their  filiation,  and  she 
could  not  resist  this  genealogical  tendency  in  her  mind  even 
in  the  hour  of  sorest  trial. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  officer. 

"  Well,  now,  what  I  want  to  say  is  that  Tommy  did  n't 
kill  that  man.  1 'm  his  mother,  an'  I  had  ought  to  know,  an'  I 
tell  yeh  so.  You  had  n't  ought  to  'a'  took  'im  up  fer  what 
he  did  n't  do." 

Markham  was  puzzled  to  know  what  to  reply,  but  he 
answered  presently : 

"  Well,  the  court  '11  find  out  about  it,  you  know,  Mrs. 
Grayson."  The  man's  official  stiffness  was  a  little  softened 
by  the  tones  of  her  heart-broken  voice. 

Barbara  never  could  tell  how  she  got  through  the  hours 
from  half -past  10  to  3  o'clock.  Neighbors  were  coming  and 
going  —  some  from  a  desire  to  be  helpful,  others  from 
curiosity,  but  Mely  remained  with  them.  Bob  McCord  was 
too  faithful  to  leave  the  Graysons  when  he  might  be  needed 
but  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  remain  awake  from  mere 
sympathy.  When  Markham  was  gone,  he  lay  down  on  the 
end  of  the  porch  farthest  from  the  door,  and  slept  the  sleep 
of  the  man  of  the  Bronze  Age.  His  fidelity  was  like  that 
of  a  great  dog  —  he  gave  himself  no  anxiety,  but  he  was 
ready  when  wanted. 

At  3  o'clock  Barbara  said  to  Mely :    "  I  can't  stand  it  a 


124  THE   GRAYSONS 

minute  longer ;  I  can't  wait  for  daybreak.  Wake  up  your 
father  and  ask  him  to  hitch  up  Blaze.  I  'm  going  to  see 
Tom  as  quick  as  I  can  get  there.  I  ought  to  have  started 
before." 

"  1 'm  a-goin'  too,"  said  Mrs.  Grayson. 

"  No,  mother ;  you  stay.     It 's  too  much  for  you." 

"Me,  Barb'ry?"  The  mother's  lip  quivered,  and  she 
spoke  in  a  tremulous  voice,  like  that  of  a  pleading  child. 
"Me  stay  't  home  an'  my  Tommy — my  boy — in  jail!  No, 
Barb'ry  j  you  won't  make  me  stay  't  home.  I  'in  goin'  t' 
Moscow,  ef  it  kills  me.  I  must.  I  'm  his  mother,  Barb'ry. 
He  's  the  on'y  boy  't 's  left.  All  the  rest  is  dead  an'  gone, 
An'  him  in  jail ! " 

"  Pap !  pap !  you  wake  up ! "  Mely  was  calling  to  her 
father  lying  there  asleep,  and  Barbara  came  and  stood  in 
the  door,  fain  to  hasten  Bob  McCord's  slow  resurrection 
from  the  deeps  of  unconsciousness  and  at  the  same  time  to 
escape  from  the  sight  of  her  mother's  despair. 

As  Bob  got  up  and  comprehended  the  urgent  request 
that  the  horse  be  harnessed  immediately,  Barbara's  atten 
tion  was  drawn  to  a  man  coming  swiftly  down  the  road  in 
the  moonlight.  The  figure  was  familiar.  Barbara  felt  sure 
she  recognized  the  new-comer;  and  when,  instead  of 
stopping  to  fumble  for  the  gate-bolt,  he  rested  his  hands 
on  the  fence  alongside  and  sprang  over,  she  knew  that 
it  was  Hiram  Mason,  whom  she  had  not  seen  since  the 
evening,  nearly  two  weeks  before,  when  they  had  peeled 
apples  together.  It  would  be  hard  to  say  whether  pleas- 


FRIENDS  IN  THE  NIGHT  125 

ure  or  pain  predominated  in  her  mind  when  she  recognized 
him. 

By  the  time  Mason  got  over  the  fence  Bob  McCord  had 
gone  to  the  stable,  and  Mely  had  reentered  the  house.  Bar 
bara  went  forward  and  met  Hiram  on  the  steps  to  the 
porch. 

"  Poor,  dear  Barbara ! "  were  his  words  as  he  took  her 
hand.  At  other  times  her  pride  had  been  nettled  by  his 
pity,  but  her  desolate  soul  had  not  fortitude  enough  left  to 
refuse  the  solace  of  his  tender  words. 

"I  came  the  very  moment  I  heard,"  he  said.  "I  was 
staying  away  down  at  Albaugh's,  and  Ike  was  the  only  one 
of  them  on  the  camp-ground.  He  was  so  excited,  and  so 
anxious  to  see  and  hear,  that  he  did  n't  get  home  till  2 
o'clock.  And  only  think  I  was  sleeping  quietly  and  you  in 
such  trouble ! " 

"You  must  n't  come  in,"  said  Barbara.  "We  're  a 
disgraced  family,  and  you  must  n't  come  in  here  any 
more." 

"  What  notions!"  answered  Hiram.  "I  'm  here  to  stay. 
Let  me  ask  your  mother."  He  took  hold  of  her  arms  and 
put  her  aside  very  gently  and  pushed  on  into  the  house, 
where  Mely  was  pinning  on  Mrs.  Grayson's  wide  cape  pre 
paratory  to  her  ride  to  Moscow. 

"  Mrs.  Grayson  —  "  said  he. 

"  W'y,  ef  't  ain't  the  master  !  "  she  interrupted  in  a  trem 
bling  voice.     "  Mr.  Mason,  Tommy  never  killed  that  man, 
an'  he  had  n't  ought  to  'a'  been  took  up." 
11* 


126  THE   GRAY  SONS 

"  Mrs.  Grayson,  won't  you  let  me  stay  with  you  a  few 
days,  now  you  're  in  trouble,  and  help  you  through  ? " 

The  old  lady  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  before  she  was 
able  to  reply. 

"  It  ain't  fer  a  schoolmaster  an*  a  preacher's  son  to  come 
here,  now  folks  '11  be  a-sayin'  't  we  're  —  't  we  're  —  murder 
ers.'7  This  last  word,  uttered  with  tremulous  hesitation, 
broke  down  her  self-control,  and  Mrs.  Gray  son  fell  to  weep 
ing  again. 

"  1 7m  going  to  stay  by  you  awhile,  and  we  '11  see  what  can 
be  done,7'  said  Mason.  "  They  've  taken  your  boy,  and  you 
'11  let  me  fill  his  place  a  little  while,  won't  you,  now  ? " 

"  God  bless  you,  my  son  ! "  was  all  the  weeping  woman 
could  say ;  and  Barbara,  who  had  followed  Hiram  into  the 
room  and  stood  behind  him  while  he  talked  to  her  mother, 
turned  her  face  to  the  dark  window  and  wept  heartily  for 
the  first  time  in  this  sorrowful  night. 

"  You  'd  jest  orter  W  heerd  the  master  a-talkin'  to  Mrs. 
Grayson,"  said  Mely  McCord  afterward.  "  He  stood  there 
lookin'  at  her  with  his  head  turned  kind-uh  cornerin'-like, 
un  his  words  was  so  soft-like  un  pitiful ;  —  lawsey  !  ef  he 
did  n'  make  me  feel  jes  like  's  ef  my  heart  wuz  a-comin 
right  up  into  my  mouth." 

Bob  McCord  led  old  Blaze  up  in  front  of  the  gate,  and 
all  in  the  house  went  down  to  the  road. 

"  Mr.  McCord,"  said  Mason,  "  I  want  to  drive  that  wagon." 

"  I  don't  b'lieve  you  kin  do  this  fust  piece  uv  road  with 
nothin'  but  a  weakly  moonshine,"  said  Bob. 


FRIENDS  IN  THE  NIGHT  127 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  Ve  been  over  it  a  good  many  times."  Only 
Barbara  knew  how  often  Hiram  had  traversed  it. 

When  the  schoolmaster  had  helped  Mrs.  Grayson  and 
Barbara  into  the  wagon,  and  while  Mely  was  assisting  them 
to  adjust  themselves,  he  went  to  the  horse's  head,  where 
McCord  was  standing,  and  said  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  They  told  me  there  was  a  rush  to  lynch  him  last  night ; 
and  Ike  Albaugh  says  that  Jake  Hogan,  who  worked  for 
them  this  last  harvest-time,  told  him  at  the  camp-ground 
that  the  Broad  Run  boys  were  going  to  make  another  of 
their  visits  to  Moscow  to-night  if  the  coroner's  inquest  was 
against  Tom.  Now,  Tom  may  be  innocent  j  and  he  ought 
to  have  a  fair  show  anyhow." 

"  I  'd  better  see  to  that ! "  said  Bob.  "  I  'low  I  '11  jest 
drop  in  amongst  'em  over  onto  the  run,  kind-uh  accidental- 
like,  afore  dinner-time  to-day,  an'  throw  'em  off,  one  way  er 
'nother,  ez  the  case  may  be." 

Mrs.  Grayson  was  seated  in  a  chair  placed  in  the  spring- 
less  wagon  for  her  comfort,  while  Hiram  and  Barbara  sat 
on  a  board  laid  across  from  one  side  to  the  other  of  the 
wagon.  They  departed  out  of  sight  slowly,  Mason  guiding 
the  horse  carefully  over  the  rough  ground  in  the  obscurity 
of  a  moonlight  not  yet  beginning  to  give  way  to  the  break 
of  day. 


XII 

A   TRIP  TO   BROAD  EUN 


S  the  wagon  disappeared,  Bob  called  to  his 
daughter,  who  had  been  left  in  charge. 

"  Mely  !  Mely  !  You  jes  stir  up  the  kitchen 
fire  there,  honey,  un  bile  me  a  cup  of  coffee, 
agin  I  go  home  un  fetch  my  gun  wi'  the  dogs,  un  come 
back."  (Bob  knew  there  was  no  coffee  at  home.)  "I  'm 
a-goin'  over  onto  Broad  Run  arter  bears." 

"  Aw,  now,  pap,  you  're  all-ays  off  f  er  a  hunt  at  the  wrong 
time.  Don7  choo  go  away  now,  un  the  folks  in  sech  a  world 
uh  trouble.  Un  besides,  mammy  hain't  got  anough  to  eat 
in  the  house  to  do  tell  you  come  back."  All  this  Mely  said 
in  a  minor  key  of  protest,  which  she  had  learned  from  her 
mother,  who  was  ever  objecting  in  a  good-natured,  pathetic, 
impotent  way  to  her  husband's  thriftless  propensities. 

u  I  know  what  I  'm  up  to,  Mely.  They 's  reasons,  un  the 
schoolmaster  knows  'em.  You  keep  your  tongue  still  in  yer 
head,  honey.  On'y  be  shore  to  remember,  'f  anybody  axes 
about  me,  't  I  'm  arter  bears.  Jes  say 't  bears  uz  been  seed 
over  onto  Broad  Rim,  uu  't  pap  could  n't  noways  keep  still, 


128 


A  TRIP  TO  BROAD  RUN  129 

he  wuz  so  sot  on  goin'  over  'n'  say  in'  howdy  to  'em.     That  '11 
soun'  like  me,  un  folks  711  never  mistrust." 

"But  mammy  hain't  akehelly  got  anough  fer  the  children 
to  eat,"  responded  Mely. 

"  Well,  I  'low  to  fetch  some  bear  meat  home,  un  you  kin 
borry  some  meal  from  Mrs.  Grayson's  bar'el  tell  I  git  back. 
>F  they  knowed  what  kind  uh  varmints  I  wuz  arter  over 
there,  they  would  n't  begrudge  me  nuthin',  Sis.  Come,  now, 
hump  yer  stumps;  fer  I  '11  be  back  in  a  leetle  less'n  no 
time." 

And  Bob  went  off  in  the  darkness.  In  about  a  dozen 
minutes  he  returned  with  his  powder-horn  slung  about  his 
shoulders  over  his  hunting-shirt  and  carrying  his  rifle.  He 
was  closely  followed  by  Pup,  Joe,  and  Seizer,  his  three  dogs, 
whose  nervous  agitation,  as  they  nosed  the  ground  in  every 
direction,  contrasted  well  with  the  massive  stride  of  their 
master.  Having  swallowed  such  a  breakfast  as  Mely  could 
get  him  out  of  Mrs.  Grayson's  stores,  and  put  a  pone  of  cold 
corn-bread  into  the  bosom  of  his  hunting-shirt,  McCord  was 
off  for  the  Broad  Run  region  at  the  very  first  horizon-streak 
of  daybreak.  Though  game  was  but  a  secondary  object  in 
this  expedition,  he  could  not  but  feel  an  exhilaration  which 
was  never  wanting  when  he  set  out  in  the  early  morning 
with  his  gun  on  his  shoulder  and  in  the  congenial  compan 
ionship  of  his  dogs.  Hercules  or  Samson  could  hardly  have 
rejoiced  in  a  greater  assurance  of  physical  superiority  to  all 
antagonists.  The  most  marked  trait  in  Bob's  mental  outfit 
was  the  hunter's  cunning,  a  craft  that  took  delight  in  tricks 


130  THE  GRAY  SONS 

on  man  and  beast.  The  fact  that  he  was  akin  to  some  of 
the  families  on  Broad  Run  enhanced  the  pleasure  he  felt  in 
his  present  scheme  to  get  the  better  of  them.  He  would 
"  Tarn  the  Broad  Run  boys  a  thing  or  two  that  'd  open  their 
eyes."  His  great  plump  form  shook  with  merriment  at  the 
thought.  Plovers  rose  beating  the  air  and  whistling  in  the 
morning  light  as  he  passed,  and  the  dogs  flushed  more  than 
one  flock  of  young  prairie-chickens,  which  went  whirring 
away  just  skimming  the  heads  of  the  grass  in  low  level  flight, 
but  Bob's  ammunition  was  not  to  be  spent  on  small  game 
this  morning.  By  7  o'clock  the  increasing  heat  of  the  sun 
made  the  wide,  half-parched  plain  quiver  unsteadily  to  the 
vision.  The  sear  August  prairie  had  hardened  itself  against 
the  heat  —  the  grass  and  the  ox-eyes  held  their  heads  up 
without  sign  of  withering  or  misgiving  :  these  stiff  prairie 
plants  never  wilt  —  they  die  in  their  boots.  But  the  foliage 
of  the  forest  which  Bob  skirted  by  this  time  appeared  to 
droop  in  very  expectation  of  the  long  oppressive  hours  of 
breathless  heat  yet  to  come.  In  this  still  air  even  the  uneasy 
rocking  poplar-leaves  were  almost  stationary  on  their  edge 
wise  stems. 

Steady  walking  for  more  than  three  hours  had  brought 
Bob  to  the  outskirts  of  the  Broad  Run  region,  and  had  sobered 
the  dogs ;  these  now  sought  fondly  every  little  bit  of  shade, 
and  lolled  their  ton  gues  continuously.  The  first  person  that 
Bob  McCord  encountered  after  entering  the  grateful  region 
of  shadow  was  one  Britton  —  "  ole  man  Britton,"  his  neigh 
bors  called  him.  This  old  settler  led  a  rather  secluded  life. 


A  TRIP  TO  BROAD  RUN  131 

Neither  he  nor  his  wife  ever  left  home  to  attend  meetings 
or  to  share  in  any  social  assembly.  They  had  no  relatives 
among  the  people  of  the  country,  and  there  was  a  suspicion 
of  mystery  about  them  that  piqued  curiosity.  Some  years 
before,  a  traveler,  in  passing  through  the  country,  gave  out 
that  he  recognized  Britton,  by  his  name  and  features,  as 
one  whom  he  had  known  in  Virginia,  where  he  said  Britton 
had  been  an  overseer  and  had  run  away  with  his  employer's 
wife.  The  neighbors  had  never  accepted  the  traveler's  story 
in  this  way;  though  they  were  ready  to  believe  that  the 
woman  might  have  run  away  with  Britton.  When  Bob 
came  in  sight  of  him  the  saturnine  old  man  was  standing 
looking  over  the  brink  of  a  cliff  into  a  narrow  valley  through 
which  coursed  the  waters  of  Broad  Run,  steadying  himself 
meanwhile  by  a  sapling.  Bob,  following  his  first  impulse, 
deposited  his  gun,  beckoned  his  close-following  little  dog 
back,  and  crept  stealthily  towards  Britton,  keeping  a  tree 
between  him  and  the  old  man  when  he  could.  Arrived  in 
reach  he  made  a  spring,  and  laying  firm  hold  of  his  victim 
by  grasping  him  under  the  arms,  he  held  him  for  a  moment 
over  the  edge  of  the  precipice.  Then  he  brought  him  back 
and  set  him  safely  down  as  one  might  a  child,  and  said 
innocently : 

"  Wy,  Mr.  Britton,  I  do  declare,  'f  I  had  n't  'a'  cotcht 
you,  you  'd  'a'  fell  off !  " 

The  shriveled  old  man  drew  back  to  a  safe  distance  from 
the  brink,  and  tried  to  force  his  insipid  face  into  a  smile, 
but  he  was  pale  from  the  deadly  fright.  Big  Bob  rubbed 


THE  GRATSONS 

his  legs  and  gave  way  to  a  spasm  of  boisterous  boyish 
laughter. 

"Seed  any  bear  signs  'round  about,  Mr.  Britten?"  he 
said,  when  his  laugh  had  died  into  a  broad  grin. 
"No." 

"  What  wuz  you  lookin'  over  the  cliff  fer  ?  " 
"  Zeke  Tucker.     He  >s  workin7  fer  me,  an'  he  >s  been  gone  » 
all  the   mornin'  arter  my  clay-bank  hoss.     I  'm   afeard 
sumpin  7s  happened." 

"  'F  I  find  him  I  '11  set  the  dogs  onto  him  an'  hurry  him 
up  a  leetle,"  said  Bob,  laughing  again  and  going  on,  intent 
now  on  encountering  Zeke,  alone,  for  purposes  of  his  own. 
Then,  when  he  had  gone  a  little  way,  he  stopped  and 
looked  back  at  the  retreating  old  man,  and  grinned  as  he 
noted  the  doleful  way  in  which  his  over-large  trousers 
bagged  behind. 

"  Mr.  Britton,"  he  called,  "  which  way  M  Zeke  go  ? " 
"  Up  the  crick  j  the  hoss  is  up  thar  sumers." 
Having  secured  this  information,  Bob  went  on,  descend 
ing  the  cliff  to  the  valley  through  which  Broad  Run  rattled 
its  shallow  waters  —  a  valley  so  broken  and  rugged  as  to 
render  it  almost  unfit  for  cultivation.  This  glen  was 
settled,  as  such  regions  are  wont  to  be,  by  a  race  of  "  poor 
whiteys,"  or  rather  by  a  mixture  of  people  belonging  to  two 
stocks  originally  different.  The  one  race  was  descended 
from  the  lowest  of  the  nomads,  vagrants,  and  other  poverty- 
stricken  outcasts  that  had  been  spirited  away  from  Eng 
land  by  means  legal  and  illegal,  to  be  sold  for  a  long  term 


MR.  BRITTON    AND    BIG    BOB. 


A  TRIP  TO  BROAD  RUN  133 

into  bondage  in  the  American  colonies;  the  other,  from  the 
roughest  wing  of  the  great  Scotch-Irish  immigration  of  the 
last  century  —  the  hereditary  borderers  who  early  fought 
their  way  into  the  valleys  and  passes  of  the  Alleghanies. 
Equally  thriftless  in  their  habits,  and  equally  without  any 
traditions  of  their  origin,  members  of  these  two  tribes 
mingled  easily.  The  people  in  whom  the  Scotch-Irish 
blood  preponderates  are  more  given  to  violence,  but  their 
humor,  their  courage,  and  their  occasional  bursts  of  energy 
indicate  that  they  have  a  chance  of  emerging  from  barbar 
ism  ;  while  the  poor  whiteys  of  English  descent  are  most  of 
them  beyond  the  reach  of  evolution,  foreordained  to  extinc 
tion  by  natural  selection,  whenever  the  pressure  of  over 
population  shall  force  them  into  the  competition  for  exist 
ence. 

With  that  instinctive  unthriftiness  which  is  the  perpetual 
characteristic  of  the  poor  whitey  in  all  his  generations,  the 
Broad  Run  people  had  chosen  the  least  inviting  lands 
within  a  hundred  miles  for  their  settlement,  as  though 
afraid  that  by  acquiring  valuable  homes  they  might  lose 
their  aptitude  for  migration ;  or  afraid,  perhaps,  that  fer 
tile  prairies  might  tempt  them  to  toil.  The  convenience 
of  a  brook  by  their  doors,  and  a  wood  that  was  uncom 
monly  "handy,"  had  probably  determined  their  choice. 
Then,  too,  the  circumjacent  cliffs  gave  them  a  sense  of 
being  shut  in  from  prairie  winds,  and  put  some  limit 
to  the  wanderings  of  their  half-starved  "critters."  For 
the  rest,  their  demands  upon  the  land  were  always  very 
12 


134  THE  GRAY  SONS 

modest — a  few  bushels  of  "taters,"  for  roasting  in  the 
ashes;  a  small  field  of  maize,  for  roasting-ears,  hominy, 
and  corn-dodgers  5  and  such  pumpkins  and  beans  as  could 
be  grown  intermingled  with  the  hills  of  corn,  were  about 
all  that  one  of  these  primitive  families  required,  beyond 
what  could  be  got  with  a  gun  or  a  fishing-line.  The  only 
real  luxuries  affected  were  onions  and  melons — "  ing-uns  un 
water  millions,"  in  Broad  Run  phrase.  Their  few  pigs  and 
cows  ran  at  large,  and  lived  as  they  could.  Oxen  they 
rarely  owned,  but  whenever  a  man  was  in  the  least  prosper 
ous  he  was  sure  to  possess  a  single  inferior  saddle-horse, 
though  he  sometimes  had  no  saddle  but  a  blanket  girt  with 
a  surcingle.  A  horse  was  kept  at  the  service  of  neighbors ; 
for,  like  other  savages,  the  Broad  Run  people  were  hospita 
ble  and  generous  to  members  of  their  own  tribe,  and  the 
only  economy  they  understood  was  that  of  borrowing  and 
lending,  by  which  a  number  of  families  were  able  to  make 
use  of  the  same  necessary  articles.  This  happy  device,  for 
example,  enabled  one  circulating  flat-iron  to  serve  an  entire 
neighborhood. 

The  Broad  Run  people  entertained  a  contempt  for  the 
law  that  may  have  been  derived  from  ancestors  transported 
for  petty  felonies.  It  seemed  to  them  something  made  in 
the  interest  of  attorneys  and  men  of  property.  A  person 
mean  enough  to  "take  the  law  onto"  his  neighbor  was 
accounted  too  "triflin'"  to  be  respectable;  good  whole- 
souled  men  settled  their  troubles  with  nature's  weapons, — 
fists,  teeth,  and  finger-nails,— and  very  rarely,  when  the 


A  TRIP  TO  BROAD  RUN  135 

offense  was  heinous  and  capital,  with  bullets  or  buckshot. 
Men  who  were  habitually  disgraceful  in  any  way — as,  for 
example,  those  who  could  not  get  drunk  without  beating 
their  wives  —  were  punished,  without  the  delay  of  trial,  by 
the  infliction  of  penalties  more  ancient  than  statutes,  such 
as  ducking,  riding  on  a  rail,  whipping,  or  sudden  banish 
ment.  Hanging  by  lynch-law  was  , reserved  for  the  two 
great  crimes  of  horse-stealing  and  murder. 

They  put  the  killing  of  George  Lockwood  into  the  cate 
gory  of  grudge-murder,  since  he  was  shot  at  night  "with 
out  giving  him  a  show  for  his  life.77  But  the  shooting  did 
not  immediately  concern  Broad  Run,  and  Broad  Run  folks 
would  not  have  felt  themselves  responsible  for  seeing  jus 
tice  done,  if  it  had  not  been  for  concurring  circumstances. 
Lynch  law  is  an  outbreak  of  the  reformatory  spirit  among 
people  of  low  or  recent  civilization.  Like  other  movements 
for  reform,  it  is  often  carried  by  its  own  momentum  into 
unforeseen  excesses.  It  had  happened  recently  that  two 
brothers,  thieves  of  the  worst  class,  who  had  infested  the 
country  and  had  long  managed  to  escape  from  the  law,  had 
been  sent  to  prison  for  four  years.  They  were  believed  to 
be  guilty  of  an  offense  much  blacker  than  the  robbery  for 
which  they  were  sentenced ;  but  the  murder  of  a  strange 
peddler  had  escaped  notice  until  the  body  had  been  dis 
covered  two  years  after  the  crime,  and  the  crime  could  not 
then  be  brought  home  by  legal  evidence.  Their  attorney, 
a  lawyer  notorious  for  chicanery,  had,  by  appeal,  got  a  new 
trial  on  account  of  some  technical  error  in  the  proceedings 


13C  THE  GRATSOXS 

of  the  lower  court.  The  county  had  already  been  heavily 
taxed  to  defray  the  expense  of  convicting  them,  and  the 
people  were  exasperated  by  the  prospect  of  a  new  ex 
pense  with  the  possible  escape  of  the  criminals.  Public 
expenses,  it  is  true,  sat  lightly  on  Broad  Run ;  the  taxes 
levied  on  its  barren  patches  and  squalid  cabins  were 
not  considerable,  but  Broad  Run  made  much  of  the 
taxes  it  did  pay,  and  it  caught  the  popular  indignation, 
and  was  indignant  in  its  own  prompt  and  executive 
fashion.  The  very  night  before  the  new  trial  was  to  begin, 
the  doors  of  the  jail  were  forced,  and  the  two  prisoners 
were  shot  to  death  by  a  mob.  On  the  jail  door  was  left  a 
notice,  warning  the  attorney  of  the  criminals  to  depart 
from  the  county  within  thirty  hours,  on  pain  of  suffering  a 
like  fate.  Though  Broad  Run  got  most  of  the  credit  for 
this  prompt  vindication  of  justice,  the  leaving  of  this  legi 
ble  notice  upon  the  door  was  taken  as  evidence  of  the  com 
plicity  of  some  whose  education  was  better  than  that  of  the 
settlers  at  the  Run.  This  execution  had  taken  place  but 
three  months  before  the  shooting  of  George  Lockwood,  and 
the  mob  was  like  a  were-wolf.  Perhaps  I  ought  rather  to 
liken  it  to  those  professional  reformers  who,  having  abol 
ished  slavery,  or  waved  their  hats  while  others  abolished  it, 
proceed  to  inquire  for  the  next  case  on  the  docket,  and 
undertake  forthwith  to  do  away  with  capital  punishment 
or  the  marriage  relation.  Having  found  its  local  self-com 
placency  much  increased  by  success  in  discovering  a 
method  cheaper  and  more  expeditious  than  those  of  the 


A  TRIP  TO  BROAD  RUN  137 

courts,  Broad  Run  was  readily  inclined  to  apply  its  system 
of  criminal  jurisprudence  to  a  new  case. 

But  this  local  reformatory  tendency,  like  many  large 
movements  of  the  sort,  was  very  capable  of  lending  itself 
to  the  promotion  of  personal  aims  and  the  satisfaction  of 
private  grudges.  One  of  Tom  Grayson's  rash  boyish  ex 
ploits,  soon  after  he  took  up  his  abode  with  his  uncle  in 
town,  had  been  to  avenge  himself  for  an  affront  put  upon 
him  the  year  before  by  Jake  Hogan  of  Broad  Run.  Jake, 
while  working  as  a  hired  man  for  Butts,  the  next  neighbor 
to  the  Graysons,  had  taken  the  side  of  his  employer  in  the 
long-standing  quarrel  between  the  Buttses  and  the  Gray- 
sons  about  pigs  in  the  corn-field  and  geese  in  the  meadow, 
"  breachy n  horses  and  line  fences.  Jake  had  gone  so  far 
one  day  as  to  throw  Tom,  then  a  half-grown  boy,  into  the 
"branch."  A  boy's  memory  of  such  events  is  good,  and 
when  Jake  rode  into  Moscow,  a  year  later,  in  company  with 
his  sweetheart  to  see  the  circus,  Tom  repaid  the  old  grudge 
by  taking  the  stirrups  from  Jake's  saddle  and  dropping 
them  into  the  public  well ;  so  that  the  consequential  Jake 
had  the  mortification  of  escorting  a  giggling  Broad  Run 
girl  to  her  home  with  his  lank  legs  and  his  big  boots  dan 
gling,  unsupported,  against  the  flanks  of  his  horse.  Hogan 
would  have  beaten  Tom,  if  he  had  not  received  an  intima 
tion  that  this  would  perhaps  involve  the  necessity  of  his 
settling  the  matter  a  second  time  with  big  Bob  McCord. 
But  he  laid  up  his  grudge,  and  from  that  time  he  had  taken 
pleasure  in  testifying  to  his  settled  conviction  that  Tom 
12* 


138  THE  GRAY  SONS 

"  would  n'  never  come  t'  no  good  eend."  He  always  lent 
emphasis  to  this  sinister  prediction  by  jerking  his  head 
back,  with  the  self-confident  air  of  a  man  who  knows  what 
he  knows.  From  the  moment  of  the  shooting  of  Lock- 
wood,  when  Jake  found  that  Tom  was  on  the  direct  road  to 
the  gallows,  he  began  to  twit  all  his  cronies. 

"Hain't  I  all-ays  said  so?  Go  to  thunder!  D>  yeh 
think  Jake  Hogan  don't  know  a  feller  as  the  rope 's  already 
got  a  slip-knot-  onto  ?"  And  he  would  jerk  his  chin  back, 
and  stiffen  his  neck,  as  he  defiantly  waited  for  a  reply. 

Not  content  with  exulting  in  successful  prophecy,  Jake 
got  a  notion  from  the  first  that  it  devolved  on  him  now  to 
see  that  this  young  scapegrace  should  not  fail  of  merited 
punishment.  His  neighbors  at  the  Run,  having  boasted 
much  of  the  value  of  what  they  called  "  Broad  Run  law," 
were  willing  to  add  a  leaf  to  their  laurels  as  reformers  of 
the  county;  and  he  counted  also  on  finding  recruits 
among  the  loafers  on  the  outskirts  of  the  camp-meeting, 
if  the  coroner's  jury  should  return  a  verdict  adverse  to 
Tom. 

Bob  McCord  was  able  to  conjecture  something  of  this 
state  of  affairs  from  the  slender  information  the  school 
master  had  given  him.  During  all  his  morning's  walk  to 
Broad  Run,  Bob's  thoughts  had  chiefly  revolved  about 
plans  for  circumventing  Hogan.  His  first  crude  scheme 
was  to  join  the  reformers  in  their  little  excursion,  and  then 
mislead  or  betray  them  ;  but  his  friendly  relations  with 
the  Gray  sons  were  too  well  known  to  Jake  for  this  to  be 


A  TRIP  TO  BROAD  RUN  139 

possible.  It  was  not  until  the  old  man  Britton  had  men 
tioned  Zeke  Tucker  that  there  occurred  to  Bob's  inventive 
mind  a  proper  agent  for  his  purpose.  "Wishing  to  have  his 
coming  known,  he  steered  his  course  near  to  the  rickety 
cabin  of  Eleazar  Brown,  or,  as  he  was  commonly  called, 
"  Ole  Lazar  Brown." 

"  G'-mornm7,  S'manthy,"  Bob  called  to  Lazar  Brown's 
daughter,  at  the  same  time  giving  his  head  a  little  forward 
jerk, — the  very  vanishing  point  of  a  bow, —  but  without 
stopping  his  march.  S'manthy  had  buried  two  husbands, 
and  had  borne  eight  white-headed  children,  but  she  had 
never  been  called  by  any  other  name  than  S'manthy.  Just 
now  she  was  "  batting "  clothes  on  a  block  in  front  of  the 
house,  turning  a  wet  garment  over  with  her  left  hand  from 
time  to  time,  and  giving  it  the  most  vindictive  blows  with 
a  bat  held  in  her  right. 

"  Y'  ain't  heern  nothin'  V  no  bears  a-cap'rin'  'round  h-yer 
lately,  eh  ?  "  Bob  asked,  relaxing  his  gait  a  little. 

"  They  say  as  they  's  a  b'ar  been  seed  furder  upt  the  run, 
un  I  'low  you  mout  fine  some  thar  ur  tharabouts,"  replied 
the  woman,  intermitting  her  batting  a  moment  and  pushing 
back  her  faded  pink  sun-bonnet.  "But  wha'  choo  doin' 
away  f'om  home,  I  'd  thes  like  to  know,  when  they  's  so 
much  a-goin'  on  in  your  diggin's?  They  say  you  Ve  had  a 
murder  'n'  all  that." 

"  I  don't  talk,  S'manthy.  I  'm  a-lookin'  fer  bears.  They 
's  times  when  you  'd  orter  hole  onto  yer  tongue  with  both 
uh  yore  han's." 


140  THE  GRAYSONS 

Bob  quickened  his  stride  again  and  was  soon  out  of 
sight  among  the  scrubby  trees  of  the  rugged  valley. 

"I  say,  daddy!"  called  S'manthy,  when  Bob  had  had 
time  to  get  out  of  hearing  ;  "  looky  h-yer,  daddy !  " 

Old  Lazar  Brown,  in  answer  to  this  call,  came  and  stood 
in  the  door,  taking  his  cob-pipe  from  his  mouth  with  his 
shaky  hand  and  regarding  his  daughter. 

"  Big  Bob  McCord  's  thes  gone  along  upt  the  run  a-hunt- 
in'  fer  b'ars,"  said  S'manthy.  "  Un  they  say  as  the  feller 
that  killed  tf  other  feller  las'  night 's  the  son  uh  the  woman 
't  'e  works  fer.  Bob  's  the  beatinest  hunter !  Ef  Gaberl 
wuz  to  toot  his  horn,  Bob  'd  ax  him  to  hole  on  long  anough 
fer  him  to  git  thes  one  more  b'ar,  I  '11  bet." 

Lazar  Brown  had  shaking-palsy  in  his  arms,  and,  being 
good  for  nothing  else,  could  devote  his  entire  time  to  his 
congenial  pursuits  as  gossip  and  wonder-monger  of  the 
neighborhood.  Having  listened  attentively  to  S'manthy,  he 
shook  his  head  incredulously. 

"  Yeh  don't  think  ez  he  's  arter  b'ars,  do  yeh,  S'manthy? 
Bob  's  got  some  trick  er  'nother  'n  'is  head.  W'y,  thes  you 
look,  he  mus'  uh  le't  home  afore  daybreak.  Now,  Bob  'd 
natterly  go  to  the  earner's  eenques'  to-day,  whar  they  '11  be 
a-haulin'  that  young  feller  up  that  shot  t'  other  feller  las' 
night.  Big  Bob  's  got  some  ornery  trick  'n  'is  head."  Here 
Lazar  Brown  stopped  to  replace  his  pipe  in  his  mouth.  He 
was  obliged  to  use  both  hands,  but  after  two  or  three  at 
tempts  he  succeeded.  "  Looky  h-yer,  S'manthy,  you  thes 
keep  one  eye  out  fer  Bob  j  I  'low  he  '11  go  down  the  run  to- 


A  TRIP  TO  BROAD  RUN  141 

wurds  ev'nin7.  He  '11  be  orful  dry  by  that  time,  fer  he  's 
one  of  the  driest  fellers.  Thes  you  tell  him  >t  I  Ve  got  a 
full  jug,  un  ax  him  in,  un  we  '11  kind-uh  twis'  it  out  uh  'im. 
I  low  I  '11  go  'n  find  Jake." 

Lazar  returned  to  the  house,  knocked  the  ashes  out  of 
his  pipe  and  refilled  it.  Then  with  some  difficulty  he  suc 
ceeded  in  taking  a  live  coal  from  the  ashes  j  holding  it  in 
the  leathery  palm  of  his  shaking  left  hand,  he  got  it  de 
posited  at  last  on  the  corn-cob  bowl  of  his  pipe.  As  soon 
as  this  operation  of  firing-up  was  completed,  he  set  out  in 
a  trotty  little  walk,  glad  to  have  news  that  would  make 
the  neighbors  hearken  to  him. 

Meantime  Bob  McCord,  having  passed  out  of  sight  of 
S'mauthy  in  his  progress  up  the  creek,  had  faced  about  and 
come  back  through  the  bushes  to  a  point  overlooking  Lazar 
Brown's  cabin,  where,  in  a  dense  patch  of  pawpaws,  he 
stood  in  concealment.  This  movement  greatly  perplexed 
the  old  dog  Pup,  who  stood  twitching  his  nose  nervously, 
unable  to  discover  what  was  the  game  that  had  attracted 
his  master's  eye.  When  at  length  Bob  saw  Lazar  start  off 
down  the  run,  he  smote  his  knee  with  his  hand  and  gave 
vent  to  half-smothered  laughter. 

"  Tuck  like  the  measles  ! "  he  soliloquized.  "  Un  it  '11 
spread  too.  See  'f  it  don't!  Come,  Pup  —  bears!  bears! 
ole  boy  ! "  * 

*  Why  it  was  that  Bob  said  "  bears,"  and  did  not  say  "b'ars,"  as 
some  of  his  class  did,  I  do  not  know.  Broad  as  his  dialect  was,  it  was 
perceptibly  less  aberrant  than  that  of  Lazar  Brown's  family,  for  exam- 


142  THE  GRATSONS 

The  dogs  took  the  hint  and  ceased  their  nosing  about  the 
roots  of  trees  for  squirrels,  and  in  beds  of  leaves  and 
bunches  of  grass  for  hares.  They  began  to  make  large  cir 
cles  through  the  trees  about  Bob,  who  moved  forward  as 
the  center  of  a  sort  of  planetary  system,  the  short-legged 
dog  keeping  near  the  center,  while  Pup  ranged  as  far  away 
as  he  could  without  losing  sight  of  his  master, —  the  re 
mote  Uranus  of  the  hunt.  Joe,  having  "  tairrier  "  blood  in 
him,  ran  with  his  nozzle  down  j  but  long-legged  Pup,  with 
a  touch  of  greyhound  in  his  build,  carried  his  head  high 
and  depended  on  his  eyes.  The  fact  that  Tom  Grayson's 
life  was  at  stake  afforded  no  reason,  in  Bob's  view,  for  giv 
ing  over  the  pursuit  of  bears.  Nor  did  he  hunt  in  serious 
earnest  merely  because  there  was  neither  bread  nor  meat  at 
home.  A  cat  will  catch  mice  for  the  mere  fun  of  it,  and 
with  Bob  the  chase  was  ever  the  chief  interest  of  life.  But 
Bob  did  not  forget  his  other  errand  j  while  the  dogs  were 
seeking  for  bears,  he  was  eagerly  scanning  the  bushes  in 
every  direction  for  Zeke  Tucker.  Half  a  mile  above  Lazar 
Brown's  he  encountered  Zeke,  carrying  a  blind-bridle  on 
his  arm,  and  still  looking  in  vain  for  Britton's  stray  horse. 

pie.  It  is  impossible  to  trace  the  causes  for  local  and  family  variations 
of  speech  ;  nor  is  a  word  always  pronounced  in  the  same  way  in  a  dia 
lect, —  it  varies  in  sound  sometimes,  when  more  or  less  stress  is  put 
upon  it.  The  varieties  are  here  set  down  as  they  existed,  except  that 
print  can  never  give  those  shades  of  pronunciation  and  inflection  that 
constitute  so  large  a  part  of  the  peculiarities  of  speech,  local,  per 
sonal,  and  temporary. 


A  TRIP  TO  BROAD  RUN  143 

u  Hello,  Zeke  !  the  very  feller  I  wuz  a-lookin'  fer.  Don't 
ax  me  no  questions  about  what  I  'm  a-doin'  over  h-yer, 
an'  I  won't  tell  you  no  lies.  Let  's  set  down  a  minute  on 
that  air  hackberry  log." 

The  writer  of  a  local  guide-book  to  the  city  of  Genoa 
recounts,  ampng  the  evidences  of  piety  exhibited  by  his 
fellow-citizens,  the  hospital  built  by  them  for  those  "  la 
qaale  non  e  conceduto  di  bearsi  nelsorriso  di  un  padre.7'  Zeke 
was  one  of  those  to  whom,  in  the  circumlocution  of  the 
Genoese  writer,  had  not  been  granted  the  benediction  of  a 
father's  smile.  Such  unfortunates  were  never  wanting  in 
a  community  like  Broad  Run,  but  no  one  had  ever  thought 
of  building  an  asylum  for  them,  though  there  were  many 
ready  to  make  them  suffer  the  odium  of  sins  not  their  own. 
From  that  unexpected  streak  of  delicacy  which  is  some 
times  found  in  a  rough  man  of  large  mold,  Bob  McCord 
had  always  refrained  from  allusion  to  the  irregularity  of 
Zeke's  paternity,  and  had  frequently  awed  into  silence  those 
who  found  pleasure  in  jibing  him.  This  had  awakened  in 
Zeke  a  grateful  adhesion  to  Bob,  and  in  the  young  man's 
isolation  among  his  neighbors  and  his  attachment  to  him 
self  Bob  saw  a  chance  to  secure  an  ally. 

"  Zeke,"  said  McCord,  when  once  they  were  seated  on  the 
hackberry  log, "  you  7n7  me  's  all-ays  been  f rien's,  hain't  we  ? " 

"  Toobshore,  Bob  !  they  hain't  no  man  a-livin'  I  'd  do  a 
turn  fer  quicker." 

"Well,  now,  you  tell  me  this:  Is  Jake  Hogan  a-goin'  to 
town  weth  the  boys  to-night  ? " 


14-4  THE  GRAY  SONS 

"  I  had  n't  no  ways  orter  tell,  but  I  low  't  'e  is." 

"  You  a-goin'  along  ? " 

"  I  dunno.  'F  you  don't  want  me  to,  I  don't  reckon  ez  I 
shall." 

"  Yes,  but  I  'd  ruther  you  'd  go.  I  don't  want  that  air 
fool  boy  hung  'thout  a  fair  stan'-up  trial,  V  I  may  as  well 
tell  you  't  I  don't  mean  he  shall  be  nuther,  not  'f  I  have  to 
lick  Jake  Hogaii  tell  his  ornery  good-fer-nothiii'  hide  won't 
hold  shucks.  But  don't  choo  tell  him  a  word  't  I  say." 

"  Trust  me."  Zeke  was  pleased  to  find  himself  in  impor 
tant  confidential  relations  with  a  man  so  much  "  looked  up 
to  "  as  Bob  McCord.  "  Jake  's  been  the  hardest  on  me  'v  all 
the  folks,  un  they  's  been  times  when  I  'lowed  to  pull  up  un 
cl'ar  out  fer  the  Injun  country,  to  git  shed  uv  'im.  I  wish 
to  thunder  you  would  lick  him  'thin  'n  inch  'viz  life.  He  's 
a  darn-sight  wuss  'n  git  out." 

"  Looky  h-yer,  Zeke  j  I  '11  tell  you  how  you  kin  git  even 
with  Jake.  You  jest  go  'long  weth  the  boys  to-night, 
wherever  they  go.  I  'm  goin'  to  fix  it  so  's  they  won't  do 
nuthin'  to-night.  You  're  livin'  't  ole  man  Britton's  now, 
ainch  yeh  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  you  git  off  fer  half  a  day  f  om  Britton's,  un  go  to 
the  eenques'  this  arternoon,  un  fine  out  all  you  kin.  Arter 
supper,  you  go  over  to  the  groc'ry ;  un  jest  as  soon  ?s  you 
fine  out  whech  way  the  wind  sets,  you  Ve  got  to  let  me 
know.  'T  won't  do  fer  me  to  be  seed  a-talkin'  to  you,  ur 
fer  me  to  loaf  aroun'  Britton's.  But  ef  Jake  makes  up  his 
mine  to  go  to  Moscow,  you  light  a  candle  to-night  un  put  it 


A  TRIP  TO  BROAD  RUN  145 

in  the  lof  where  you  sleep,  so  't  '11  shine  out  uv  a  crack  on 
the  south  side  uv  the  chimbley,  in  the  furder  eend  uv  the 
house." 

"  But  his  mine  >s  already  made  up,"  said  Zeke. 

"They  >s  time  to  change  afore  night.  Ef  he  's  goin7  to 
Perry  sburg >r 

"Perrysburg?  They  ain't  no  talk  uv  Perrysburg,"  said 
Zeke. 

"  They  may  be/'  answered  Bob.  "  Un  ef  Perrysburg  's 
the  place,  you  put  the  candle  at  the  leetle  winder  on  the 
north  side  uv  the  chimbley.  Un  when  I  shoot  you  put  out 
the  candle,  un  then  I  '11  know  it 's  you,  un  you  '11  know  't  I 
understan'.  You  see,  't  won't  do  fer  me  to  stop  any  nearder 
7n  the  hill,  un  I  '11  wait  there  till  I  see  your  candle.  Then 
you  go  weth  Jake."  Here  Bob  got  up  and  strained  his  long 
sighted  eyes  at  some  object  in  the  bushes  on  the  other  side 
of  the  brook.  "  Is  yon  hoss  yourn,  on  t'  other  side  of  the 
branch  ? " 

"  I  don't  see  no  hoss,"  said  Zeke. 

"  Well,  you  watch  out  a  minute  un  you  '11  ketch  sight  uv 
'im.  He  's  gone  in  there  to  git  shed  of  the  flies." 

"  That 's  our  clay-bank,  I  believe,"  said  Zeke,  getting  up 
and  carefully  scanning  the  now  half-visible  horse. 

"  Mine !  you  hain't  seen  nor  heern  tell  of  me,  un  you 
b'long  to  Jake's  crowd  weth  all  your  might.'7 

With  these  words  Bob  set  out  again  for  his  bear-hunt, 
while  the  bare-foot  Zeke  waded  through  the  stream,  which 
was  knee-deep,  and  set  himself  to  beguile  Britton's  clay- 
bank  horse  into  standing  still  and  forfeiting  his  liberty. 
13 


XIII 

A    BEAR    HUNT 

JOB  McCORD  had  that  quick,  sympathetic  ap 
preciation  of  brute  impulses  which  is  the 
mark  of  a  great  hunter.  Given  a  bear  or  a 
deer  in  a  certain  place,  at  a  certain  hour  of 
the  day,  and  Bob  would  conjecture,  without  much  chance 
of  missing,  in  which  direction  he  would  go  and  what  he 
would  be  about.  In  a  two-hours'  beating-up  the  ravine  he 
found  no  traces  of  bears.  He  then  faced  almost  about  and 
bent  his  course  to  where  the  illimitable  western  prairie  set 
into  the  woods  in  a  kind  of  bay.  Why  he  thought  that  on 
a  hot  day  like  this  a  bear  might  be  taking  a  sunning  in  the 
open  grass  I  cannot  tell  j  he  probably  suspected  Bruin  of 
an  excursion  to  the  corn-fields  for  "  roas'in'  ears."  At  any 
rate  his  conjecture  was  correct.  Pup,  beating  forward  in 
great  leaps,  with  his  head  above  the  grass,  caught  sight  of 
a  female  bear  making  her  way  to  a  point  of  timber  farther 
down  the  run  known  as  Horseshoe  Neck.  When  the  bear 
saw  the  dogs  she  quickened  her  leisurely  pace  into  a  lumber 
ing  gallop.  Pup's  long  legs  were  stretched  to  their  utmost 

146 


A  BEAR  HUNT  147 

in  eager  leaps  which  presently  brought  him  in  front  of  her ; 
Joe,  when  he  came  up,  annoyed  her  at  the  side  j  and  stout 
little  Seizer,  watching  the  chance  whenever  she  was  making 
an  angry  lunge  at  Pup,  would  bravely  nip  her  heels  and  so 
make  her  turn  about.  Before  she  could  get  her  head  fairly 
around  the  fiste  would  turn  tail  and  run  for  his  life.  Bob 
tried  to  get  within  range  before  the  bear  should  disappear  in 
the  forest,  but  as  soon  as  she  saw  herself  near  the  timber  she 
charged  straight  for  it,  refusing  to  strike  at  Pup,  and 
wholly  disregarding  the  barking  of  bob-tail  Joe,  .or  the 
proximity  to  her  heels  of  Seizer.  She  quickly  disappeared 
from  sight  in  the  underbrush,  and  the  embarrassed  dogs 
came  near  losing  her.  A  few  moments  too  late  to  get  a 
shot,  McCord  came  running  to  the  woods  at  the  point  of  her 
entrance.  He  examined  the  brush  and  listened  a  moment. 

"  She  's  gone  up  stream,"  he  said,  "  bound  to  make  her 
hole  at  Coon's  Den,  'f  I  don't  git  there  fust." 

He  returned  to  the  prairie  and  ran  breathlessly  along  the 
edge  of  the  woods  for  the  better  part  of  a  mile ;  then  he 
dashed  into  the  timber,  and  pushing  through  the  brush 
until  he  reached  a  cliff,  he  clambered  down  and  stood  with 
his  back  to  the  head  of  a  ravine  tributary  to  the  valley 
in  which  Broad  Run  flowed.  He  was  breathless,  and  his 
flimsy  lower  garments  had  been  almost  torn  off  him  by  the 
violence  of  his  exertion  and  the  resistance  of  underbrush 
and  rocks;  in  fact,  raiment  never  seemed  just  in  place  on 
him ;  the  vigorous  form  burst  through  it  now  on  this  side, 
and  now  on  that,  Hearing  the  dogs  still  below  him,  he 


148  THE  Gil  AY  SONS 

knew  that  he  had  come  in  time  to  intercept  the  progress  of 
the  bear  toward  the  heap  of  rocky  debris  at  the  head  of 
the  ravine.  Once  in  these  fastnesses,  no  skill  of  hunter  or 
perseverance  of  dogs  would  have  been  sufficient  to  get  her 
out. 

The  bear  was  soon  in  sight,  and  Bob  saw  that  the  nearly 
exhausted  dogs  were  taking  greater  risks  than  ever.  Little 
Seizer  was  particularly  venturesome,  and  was  so  much  over 
come  with  heat  and  fatigue,  and  so  breathless  with  barking, 
that  it  was  hard  for  him  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  the  bear's 
retorts.  "  She  '11  smash  that  leetle  ijiot  the  very  nex'  time, 
shore,"  muttered  Bob  with  alarm  ;  and  though  he  knew  the 
range  to  be  a  long  one,  he  took  aim  and  fired.  Unluckily 
the  infuriated  Seizer  gave  the  bear's  heel  a  particularly 
savage  bite,  and  at  the  very  instant  of  Bob's  pulling  the 
trigger  she  turned  on  the  little  dog,  and  thus  caused  the 
ball  to  lodge  in  her  right  shoulder  just  as  she  was  striking 
out  with  her  left  paw.  She  barely  reached  the  dog,  and 
failed  to  crush  him  with  the  full  weight  of  her  arm,  but  she 
lacerated  his  side  and  sent  him  howling  out  of  the  fray. 
Now,  wounded  and  enraged,  she  recognized  in  the  hunter 
her  chief  enemy ;  and,  neglecting  the  dogs,  she  rushed  up 
the  ravine  toward  McCord.  Bob  poured  a  large  charge  of 
powder  into  his  gun,  and,  taking  a  bullet  from  his  pouch, 
he  felt  in  his  pocket  for  the  patching.  A  moment  he  looked 
blankly  at  the  oncoming  bear  and  muttered  "  Gosh ! "  be 
tween  his  set  teeth.  There  was  not  a  patch  in  his  pocket. 
He  had  put  some  pieces  of  patching  there  in  the  darkness 


A  BEAR  HUM'  149 

of  the  morning  before  leaving  home,  without  remembering 
that  his  pocket  was  bottomless.  He  stood  between  a 
wounded  bear  and  her  cubs,  and  there  was  no  time  for  de 
liberation.  He  might  evade  the  attack  if  he  could  succeed 
in  getting  up  the  cliff  where  he  had  come  down,  but  in  that 
case  she  would  reach  her  hole  and  he  would  lose  the  battle. 
He  promptly  tore  a  piece  from  the  ragged  leg  of  his  trou 
sers,  and,  wrapping  his  ball  in  it,  rammed  it  home.  Then 
he  took  a  cap  from  a  hole  in  the  stock  of  his  gun  and  got 
it  fixed  just  in  time  to  shoot  when  the  bear  was  within  a 
dozen  feet  of  him.  Uncultivated  man  that  he  was,  he  had 
the  same  refined  pleasure  in  the  death-throes  of  his  victim 
that  gentlemen  and  ladies  of  the  highest  breeding  find  in 
seeing  a  frightened  and  exhausted  fox  torn  to  pieces  by 
hounds  with  bloody  lips. 

Bob's  first  care  was  to  look  after  Seizer,  who  was  badly 
wounded,  but  whose  bones  were  whole.  The  afternoon  had 
passed  its  middle  when  he  shot  the  bear,  and  by  the  time  he 
had  cared  for  the  dog  and  dressed  his  game  the  sun  was 
low  and  McCord  was  troubled  lest  he  should  have  delayed 
too  long  the  execution  of  his  stratagem  for  the  confusion 
of  Jake  Hogan. 

Another  man  might  have  been  considerably  embarrassed 
to  dispose  of  the  bear.  But  Bob  proceeded  first  to  divest 
it  of  every  part  that  was  of  little  value.  Then  he  hoisted 
the  carcass  to  his  shoulder  and  tossed  the  bear-skin  on  top. 
Taking  up  his  rifle  and  balancing  his  burden  carefully  be 
fore  starting,  he  went  swaying  to  and  fro  down  the  ravine, 
13* 


150  THE   GRAY  SONS 

choosing  with  care  the  securest  places  among  the  rocks  to 
set  his  feet  in.  It  was  thus  that  Samson  went  off  with 
the  great  gates  of  Gaza.  McCord  was  a  primitive,  Pelasgic 
sort  of  man,  accustomed  to  overmatch  the  ferocities  of 
Nature  with  a  superior  strength  and  cunning.  Lacking 
the  refinement  and  complexity  of  the  typical  modern,  this 
antique  human  is  more  simple  and  statuesque;  even  the 
craft  of  such  a  man  has  little  involution.  There  was  joy 
in  his  bloody  victory  over  the  most  formidable  beast  in  his 
reach  that  was  virile  and  unalloyed  by  ruth  or  scruple  —  a 
joy  like  that  which  vibrates  in  the  verses  of  Homer. 

It  was  a  good  mile  to  Lazar  Brown's,  where  Bob  hoped 
to  find  a  horse  to  take  his  bear  home.  When  at  length  he 
stopped  to  unshoulder  his  burden  on  a  salient  corner  of  old 
Lazar's  rail  fence,  sunset  had  begun  to  bless  the  overheated 
earth. 

"  Got  a  b'ar,  did  n'  choo  f "  said  Old  Lazar,  who  was  in 
wait  for  Bob. 

"  To  be  shore,  Uncle  Lazar.     Whadje  expeck  1 " 

"  Come  in,  Bob,  wonch  yeh  ?  I  got  a  fresh  jug  full  uv 
the  critter  yisterday,  un  I  'low  you  're  purty  consid'able  dry 
agin  this  time.  You  purty  much  all-ays  air  dry,  Bob." 

"  Well,  Uncle  Lazar,  I  am  tollable  dry  un  no  mistake.  I 
hain't  had  nuthin'  to  drink  to-day  'ceppin*  jes  branch  water, 
un  clear  water  's  a  mighty  weak  kind  uv  a  drink  fer  a  pore 
stomick  like  mine.  'N,  I  'm  hungry  too.  Don'  choo  'low 
S'manthy  could  rake  up  a  cole  dodger  summers  about  ? " 

"  Oh,  stay  tell  she  gits  you  some  supper." 


A  BEAR  HUNT  151 

"No,  Uncle  Lazar;  I  could  n'  stop  a  minute  noways. 
They  hain't  got  nary  thing  t'  eat  't  our  house.  Len'  me 
your  mare  to  git  this  'ere  varmint  home  ¥ " 

"  I  could  n',  Bob.  I  'm  thes  uz  willin'  to  'commodate  ez 
anybody  kin  be,  but  I  Ve  promised  the  mar*  to  one  uv  the 
boys  to-night  —  to  —  to  go  a-sparkin?  weth." 

"Oh,  sparkin'  kin  wait.  What  's  a  feller  want  to  go 
sparkin'  a  Friday  night  fer?  Tell  him  to  wait  tell  Sunday, 
so  ?s  the  gal  '11  have  a  clean  dress  on." 

"  But  I  Ve  gi'n  my  word,  Bob." 

"Your  word  hain't  no  'count,  un  you  don't  fool  me, 
Uncle  Lazar,"  said  Bob,  with  a  broad  grin.  "  Your  mare  's 
a-goin'  to  town  to-night,  un  ef  she  sh'd  git  a  bullet-hole 
put  into  her  who  'd  pay  the  funeral  ixpenses  ? " 

This  consideration  went  for  a  good  deal  with  Lazar. 

"  I  say,  Bob,"  he  said,  coming  closer  and  speaking  low, 
"  is  they  goin'  to  be  shootin'  to-night  ? " 

"  Uv  course  they  is,  un  plenty  uv  it.  Don'  choo  know 't 
the  sheriff  's  gi'n  bonds,  un  'f  'e  lets  a  prisoner  go  he  's  got 
to  pay  the  damages?  Un  them  town  fellers  is  sot  agin 
lynchin'."  Seeing  S'manthy  in  the  cabin  door  straining  her 
attention  to  the  utmost,  Bob  spoke  loud  enough  to  reach 
her  ears.  "  Lookey  h-yer,  Uncle  Lazar,"  he  went  on  j  "  d' 
you  reckon  't  that  feller  that  's  a-goin'  to  git  your  mare 
shot  to-night  '11  gin  you  a  whole  quarter  uv  bear-meat  fer 
the  use  an'  the  damages  ef  she  's  shot  ? " 

This  last  hint  had  the  desired  effect. 

"  'T  ain't  no  use  a-talkin',  Daddy,"  S'manthy  called  out ; 


152  THE   GRAY  SONS 

"  I  hain't  a-go  V  to  let  a'  ole  f rien>  like  Bob  McCord  pack 
that-ar  great  big  b'ar  all  the  way  over  to  Timber  Crick  on 
his  shoulders  ez  long  's  my  name  's  S'manthy.  Un  I  hain't 
a-go'n'  to  have  the  mar'  shot.  So  thar  7s  'n  eend  auv  it." 
S'manthy's  common  "  uv  "  or  "  uh  "  for  "  of  »  became  "  auv  " 
when  she  wished  to  be  particularly  emphatic  and  full- 
mouthed  in  a  declaration. 

"  Good  fer  you,  S'manthy,"  said  Bob.     "  You  sh'll  have 
the  best  leg  this  critter  's  got.     Take  yer  ch'ice." 

A  rusty  ax  was  brought  out,  and  Bob  stopped  a  moment 
to  examine  its  serrated  edge.     "  I  say,  Uncle  Lazar,  ez  this 
a'  ax  ur  a  saw?    From  the  aidge  uv  it  I  sh'd  call  it  a  saw, 
but  the  back  uv  it  is  sumpin  like  a'  ax.'7    Then  with  a 
laugh  he  proceeded  to  cut  off  a  liberal  quarter  of  the  bear, 
while  S'manthy's  ten-year-old  tow-headed  boy  was  sent  to 
"  ketch  up  the  mar',"  which  was  nibbling  grass  on  the  far 
ther  side  of  a  patch  of  broad-leaved  cotton-weeds.    When 
the  quarter  of  bear-meat  had  been  hung  up  at  the  north 
end  of  the  cabin,  Lazar  got  out  his  jug  and  Bob  began  to 
satisfy  the  longings  of  his  colossal  thirst,  while  S'manthy 
set  out  on  the  poplar  table  which  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor  some  "  Kaintucky  corn-dodger,"  as  she  called  it ;  and 
despite  Bob's  protest  against  staying  till  she  could  cook 
some  supper,  she  put  a  bit  of  fat  salt  pork  in  the  skillet  to 
fry.     Meantime  the  old  man  plied  Bob  with  more  whisky, 
both  before  and  after  eating.   When  he  thought  it  time  for 
this  to  have  taken  effect,  he  began  to  try  to  satisfy  his  own 
curiosity. 


A  BEAR  HUNT  153 

"  D'  joo  h-yer  about  the  earner's  eenquest,  Bob  ? "  he  said 
cautiously,  feeling  his  way  toward  his  point. 

"  No,  I  did  n't.  You  see,  I  hain't  seed  nobody  but  the 
bear,  un  she  wuz  the  ign'rantest  critter.  Could  n't  tell 
me  nuthin'."  And  Bob  laughed  at  his  own  wit,  as  was  his 
custom.  "  How  'd  it  go  ? "  Bob  had  wanted  to  ask  this 
question,  but  he  wished  to  let  Uncle  Lazar  begin. 

"  Well,  I  hyern  f'om  Raphe  Jackson,  thes  now,  that  the 
jury  said  's  Lockwood  come  to  'is  final  eend  ut  the  han's  uv 
Tom  Grayson,  ur  sumpin  like  that  j  un  they  said  't  wuz 
reg'lar  bloody  murder  in  the  fust  degree.  My !  ef  that 
wuz  n't  a  mad  crowd  !  They  made  a  rush  fer  Grayson,  but 
the  depitty  shurriff  'd  got  'im  away.  Ef  they  'd  'a'  cotcht 
him  they  would  n't  'a7  made  two  bites  uv  him." 

"You  don't  say!"  Bob  was  a  little  stunned.  He  had 
not  thought  of  Tom's  being  at  the  inquest.  He  felt  that 
perhaps  in  coming  away  he  had  made  a  mistake  that  had 
come  near  to  being  a  fatal  one. 

"  They  wuz  thes  a-howlin',  Raphe  said,  un  they  had  n'fc 
lef  the  place  when  he  come  away.  They  wuz  made  madder 
by  the  way  the  young  scoundrel  stood  up  un  declared  't  he 
did  n'  know  nuthin'  about  the  murder,  arter  't  wuz  proved 
on  him,  plain  's  the  nose  on  a  man's  face,  an'  the  dead  man 
a-layin'  right  thar  afore  'is  own  eyes." 

Bob  was  in  a  brown  study,  and  nothing  was  said  on  either 
side  for  half  a  minute.  It  made  Bob  uncomfortable  to  re 
flect  that  he  had  come  near  losing  the  game  at  the  outset. 

"  I  'low  't  '11  go  hard  weth  the  young  feller  to-night." 


154  THE  GRAY  SONS 

This  roused  McCord  from  the  reverie  produced  from  his 
surprise. 

"  I  reckoned  the  boys  Vd  be  a-goin'  to  Moscow  to-night," 
he  said ;  and  added,  "  Let  'em  go ! "  And  then  he  laughed 
as  though  he  knew  something. 

"  Say,  Bob/7  said  Uncle  Lazar,  whose  curiosity  was  piqued 
beyond  endurance,  "what  's  in  the  wind?  What  wuz  it 
fotcht  you  all  the  way  over  h-yer  un  the  eenquest  a-goin' 
on  so  closte  to  your  house  1 n 

"  Had  n'  got  no  meat,"  said  Bob,  with  a  wink. 
"  They  's  sumpin  more  'n  that  ar.     You  Ve  got  sumpin 
ur  nuther  on  Jake,  I  '11  bet." 

"  I  'ke  speck  you  know  a  whole  lot,  Uncle  Lazar,"  said 
Bob.     "  I  sh'd  think  you  >d  jest  right  up  un  guess  now." 
"Well,  I  can't  seem  to." 

"  Well,  I  'm  not  a-goin'  to  let 't  out,  Uncle  Lazar,  'thout 
this  'ere  whisky  uh  yourn  's  a  leetle  too  powerful  fer  me." 

Bob  did  not  fear  the  whisky:  it  was  rare  that  whisky 
could  get  the  better  of  such  a  frame  as  his ;  and,  moreover, 
he  was  inured  to  it.  He  only  threw  out  this  hint  to  per 
suade  his  host  to  be  more  liberal  in  dispensing  it. 

But  it  appeared  that  Lazar's  liberality  with  his  whisky 
was  probably  exhausted ;  and  Bob  rose  to  go,  affecting  to 
be  unsteady  on  his  legs. 

"  Seddown,  Bob  ;  seddown,  while  I  see  about  the  mar7." 
"  Well,  I  'low  I  will,  Uncle  Lazar.     That  air  whisky  uh 
yourn  has  sort-uh  settled  into  my  feet  a  leetle." 

Lazar  went  out  to  see  if  the  boy  had  brought  the  horse, 


A  BEAR  HUNT  155 

making  a  signal  to  his  daughter  to  try  her  skill  at  coax 
ing  Bob  to  tell.  Meantime  Bob  ogled  S'manthy,  who,  like 
Delilah,  was  debating  how  she  could  win  this  Samson's 
secret.  Presently  he  said,  in  a  half-tipsy  tone : 

"S'manthy,  you  'n'  me  wuz  all-ays  good  friends,  wuz  n't 
we! " 

"  Toobshore,  Bob." 

"  I  used  to  think  you  wuz  some  at  a  hoe-down ;  you  wuz 
the  best-lookin'  un  the  liveliest  dancer  uv  all.  How  you 
did  slam-bang  the  floor ! " 

S'manthy  smiled  in  her  faded  way.  "  Bob,  that  's  all 
saf-sodder,  un  you  know  it.  Say,  Bob,  ef  you  're  sech  a 
frien'  why  on  yerth  don'  choo  tell  a-body  what  fotcht  you 
over  h-yer  to-day  f " 

"  Aw,  well,  I  'd  tell,  on'y  I  'rn  af eared  you  'd  go  un  let 
out." 

"  Not  me.     'T  a'n't  like  me  to  blab." 

"  Well,  I  don'  mine  tellin'  you,  S'manthy,  'f  yeh  won't  tell 
the  ole  man  tell  mornin'." 

"  Oh !  I  'd  never  tell  him.  He  'd  go  potterin'  all  over 
Broad  Run  Holler  weth  it,  fust  thing." 

"  'S  the  bes'  joke,"  said  Bob,  rubbing  his  knees  exultingly ; 
"but  1 'm  afeared  you  'U  tell/'  he  added,  rousing  himself. 

"  Ton  my  word  '11'  honor,  I  won't.  Nobody  'U  ever  git 't 
out  uh  me."  And  S'manthy  emphasized  this  assurance  by 
a  boastful  nodding  of  the  head  forward  and  to  one  side. 

"Well,  'f  you  think  you  kin  keep  the  sekert  overnight  — 
Don'  choo  tell  no  liviu'  critter  tell  mornin'." 


156  THE   OR  AY  SONS 

"  I  hain't  no  hand  to  tell  sekerts,  art'  you  'd  orter  know 
that,  Bob." 

"Well,  you  jes  let  Jake  'n'  his  crowd  go  to  Moscow  to 
night,"  said  Bob,  chuckling  in  a  semi-tipsy,  soliloquizing 
tone.  "I  come  over  to  make  shore  they  wuz  a-goin',  un  I 
wuz  to  let  the  sher'f  know  ef  they  had  got  wind  uv  any 
thing.  I  saw  Markham,  the  deppitty,  about  one  o'clock  this  , 
mornin',  un  he  tole  me  he  'd  look  arter  the  eenques'  un  I 
mus'  keep  a  lookout  over  h-yer.  Jake  '11  have  a  rousin' 
time,  un  no  mistake." 

"  Shootin'  ? "  queried  S'manthy,  with  eagerness. 

"Naw!  I  wuz  on'y  a-lettin'  on  about  shootin'  to  fool 
Uncle  Lazar.  Hain't  got  no  needcessity  to  shoot.  Better 
'nthat!  Gosh!" 

"Goin'  to  take  the  young  feller  away?" 

"  I  'low  they  did  n't  never  take  him  back  to  Moscow  arter 
the  eenquesV 

"  Tuh  law !    You  don't  say  ?   Whar  've  they  tuck  'm  to  ?  " 

"I  sha'n't  tell,"  said  Bob.  "I  sha'n't  teU  even  you, 
S'manthy." 

"  Perrysburg  ?  " 

"You  all-ays  wuz  some  at  guessin'.  But  I  sha'n't  say 
nary  nuther  word,  on'y  he  's  whar  Jake  won't  find  him  ef 
he  goes  to  Moscow.  They  went  summers,  un  that 's  anough. 
Perrysburg  jail 's  ruther  stronger  'n  ourn,  I  '11  say  that.  'T 
wuz  all  fixed,  'fore  I  lef  home,  to  run  him  off  afore  the 
verdick  wuz  in,  un  not  to  keep  to  the  big  road  nuther,  so  's 
Jake  would  n'  git  wind  uv  'em.  Don't  you  whisper  Per- 


A  BEAK  HUNT  157 

rysburg  to  a  livin'  soul.  You  jes'  let  Jake  go  down  to  Mos 
cow  !  I  'm  comin'  over  'n  the  mornin'  to  fetch  your  mare 
home  un  git  my  little  Seizer  that 's  got  to  stay  h-yer  to 
night,  un  then  I  '11  fine  out  how  they  come  out."  And  Bob 
chuckled  as  he  left  the  house,  only  turning  back  to  say : 

"  You  keep  closte,  S'manthy,  ur  you  '11  spile  it  all.  'F 
you  do  tell,  I  won't  never  forgive  yeh." 

Bob  now  went  out  and  down  to  the  brookside,  where  he 
cut  up  and  stripped  three  or  four  leatherwood  bushes,  and 
tied  the  tough,  fibrous  bark  into  one  strong  rope.  With 
this  he  girded  the  bear  to  the  horse's  back,  meantime  resist 
ing  all  of  old  Lazar's  inquiries  about  the  reason  for  his 
coming.  At  length  he  walked  off  in  the  dusk,  unsteadily 
leaning  against  the  horse  on  which  the  bear-meat  was  tied, 
and  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

"  Bob  won't  tell  me,"  said  the  old  man  plaintively,  as  he 
came  into  the  house. 

«He  won't,  won't  he?"  demanded  S'manthy,  with  exulta 
tion  in  her  voice.  "  You  don7  know  how.  Takes  me  to 
git  at  a  sekert." 

"Did  he  tell  you,  S'manthy?"  Uncle  Lazar  looked  a 
little  crest-fallen. 

"  In  course  he  did.  Think  I  could  n'  make  him  tell  ?  Wy, 
I  kin  thes  twis*  Big  Bob  'roun'  my  little  finger." 

"  Well,  what  on  y.erth  did  he  come  over  yer  fer,  S'man 
thy?" 

"  I  promised  not  to  tell  you." 
"  To  be  shore  you  did.     But  you  're  a-goin'  to." 
14 


158  THE   GRAY  SONS 

"  Yes ;  but  you  '11  let  it  out,  un  then  what  '11  Bob  say  to 
me?" 

"What  '11  Jake  say  to  you  fer  lettin'  yer  mar'  go  off, 
when  one  uv  his  boys  had  the  promise  f  Un  what  '11  the 
folks  say  when  they  find  out  you  knowed,  un  let  'em  be 
fooled  by  Big  Bob  ?  You  Ve  got  to  tell,  S'manthy,  ur  else 
have  all  the  Holler  down  on  yeh.  Besides,  you  could  n' 
keep  that  sekert  tell  bed- time,  noways,  un  you  know  you 
could  n'.  'T  ain't  in  you  to  keep  it,  un  you  might  thes  ez 
well  out  weth  it  now  ez  arter  awhile." 

"Aw,  well,  Daddy,  Bob  did  n'  say  much,  on'y  ut  Jake 
would  n'  fine  the  feller  that  done  the  shootin'  when  he  got 
to  Moscow." 

"  Tuh  law ! "  exclaimed  the  old  man,  waiting  with  open 
eyes  for  more. 

"  He  wuz  tuck  off,  afore  the  eenques'  wuz  over,  to  Perrys- 
burg,  un  Bob  come  over  to  see  't  Jake  did  n'  git  no  wind 
uv  it.  That 's  all  they  is  to  it.  Un  you  need  n'  go  un  tell  it, 
h-yer  an'  yan,  nuther." 

S'manthy  knew  well  that  this  caution  was  of  no  avail. 
But  by  tacking  the  proviso  to  the  information,  she  washed 
her  hands  of  responsibility,  and  convinced  herself  that  she 
had  not  betrayed  a  secret.  It  was  an  offering  that  she  felt 
bound  to  make  to  her  own  complacency. 

Uncle  Lazar,  for  his  part,  made  no  bones.  He  only  tar 
ried  long  enough  to  set  his  pipe  to  smoking. 

Bob  McCord  had  stopped  in  the  growing  darkness  under 
the  shade  of  a  box  elder,  a  little  beyond  the  forks  of  the 


A  BEAR  HUNT  159 

road.  He  presently  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  head 
of  the  old  man  as  he  trotted  away  through  the  patch  of 
stunted  corn  toward  a  little  grocery,  which  was  located 
where  the  big  road  crossed  Broad  Run  Hollow,  and  which 
was  the  common  center  of  resort  and  intelligence  for  the 
neighborhood. 


XIV 

IN    PRISON 


JlRAM  MASON  managed  with  difficulty  to 
drive  the  first  two  miles  of  forest  road  —  over 
roots  and  stumps,  through  ruts  and  mud-holes, 

and  with  no  light  but  that  of  a  waning  moon. 

"When  he  reached  Timber  Creek  bridge  he  got  down  and  led 
the  horse  on  its  unsteady  floor.  Then  came,  like  a  dark 
spot  in  the  pale  moonlight,  the  log  school-house,  which  re 
minded  him  that  he  was  running  away  from  his  day's 
work.  He  stopped  at  the  new  log-house  of  John  Buchanan, 
a  Scotch  farmer  who  had  been  one  of  his  predecessors,  and 
called  him  up  to  beg  him  to  take  his  place.  Buchanan, 
whose  knowledge  was  of  the  rudimentary  kind,  had  ceased 
to  teach  because  he  had  not  been  able  to  meet  the  increased 
demands  of  the  patrons  of  the  school ;  it  was  a  sort  of  con 
solation  to  his  thwarted  ambition  to  resume  the  beech- 
scepter  if  only  for  a  day. 

When  Buchanan's  house  had  been  left  behind,  the  road 
passed  into  an  outskirt  of  small  poplars,  and  then  finally  shook 
off  this  outer  fringe  of  forest  and  lay  straight  away  over  the 


IN  PRISON  161 

dead  level  of  the  great  prairie.  By  the  time  the  wagon  reached 
this  point  the  dawn  was  beginning  to  reveal  the  landscape, 
though  as  yet  the  world  consisted  only  of  masses  of  shadow 
interspersed  with  patches  of  a  somber  gray.  But  the 
smooth  road  was  sufficiently  discernible  for  Hiram  to  put 
the  horse  into  a  trot,  which  afforded  no  little  relief  to  the 
impatient  Barbara.  Up  to  this  time  they  had  traveled  in 
silence,  except  for  the  groans  and  sighs  of  Mrs.  Grayson. 
But  at  length  Barbara  took  the  lead. 

"  I  can't  believe  that  Tom  did  that  shooting,7'  she  said  to 
Mason.  "  He  promised  me  after  supper  last  night  that  he 
would  put  all  hard  feelings  against  George  Lock  wood  out 
of  his  mind.  Tom  is  n't  the  kind  of  a  fellow  to  play  the 
hypocrite.  Oh,  I  do  hope  he  is  innocent ! " 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Mason. 

"  To  be  sure  he  is/7  said  Mrs.  Grayson,  with  a  touch  of 
protest  in  her  voice. 

Barbara  had  detected  a  note  of  effort  in  Hiram's  reply, 
that  indicated  a  prevailing  doubt  of  Tom's  innocence,  and 
she  did  not  speak  again  during  the  whole  ride.  When  they 
entered  the  village,  Mason  drove  first  to  the  sheriff's  house, 
and  went  in,  leaving  Barbara  and  her  mother  in  the  wagon. 
Sheriff  Plunkett  had  not  yet  had  his  breakfast.  He  was  a 
well-built  man,  of  obliging  manners,  but  with  a  look  of 
superfluous  discreetness  in  his  face.  Mason  explained  in 
few  words  that  the  mother  and  sister  of  Tom  Grayson,  who 
had  not  seen  him  since  the  shooting  of  Lockwood,  were  at 
the  door  in  a  wagon  and  wished  to  be  admitted  to  the  jail. 
14* 


162  THE  GRAY  SONS 

The  sheriff  regarded  Mason  awhile  in  silence  j  it  was  his 
habit  to  examine  the  possible  results  of  the  simplest  action 
before  embarking  in  it.  He  presently  went  up-stairs  and 
came  down  bringing  with  him  the  jail  keys.  Mason  drove 
the  wagon  to  the  jail,  tied  the  horse  to  a  tree,  and  suggested 
to  Mrs.  Grayson  and  Barbara  that  it  would  be  better  for 
him  to  go  in  first.  He  had  a  vague  fear  that  there  might 
be  something  in  Tom's  situation  to  shock  the  feelings  of  his 
mother  and  sister.  The  sheriff  had  walked  briskly  along 
the  wagon  track  in  the  middle  of  the  street  to  avoid  the 
dew-laden  grass  on  either  side  of  the  road.  When  he  came 
to  the  door  of  the  jail  he  said  in  an  undertone  as  he  shoved 
the  great  iron  key  into  the  door  : 

"  Tom  's  in  the  dungeon." 

"  Why  did  you  put  him  in  the  dungeon  ?  n  asked  Mason. 

"  We  always  put  prisoners  accused  of  murder  in  there." 

"You  might  put  an  innocent  man  in  that  place,"  said 
Mason. 

"  Well,  there  ain't  much  doubt  about  Tom's  being  guilty; 
and  anyways  the  jail 's  so  weak  that  we  have  to  put  any 
body  accused  of  murder  in  the  dungeon,  where  there  ain't 
any  outside  windows." 

By  the  time  he  had  finished  this  speech,  Plunkett  had 
admitted  Mason  and  himself  to  the  jail  and  locked  the  out 
side  door  behind  them.  The  prison  was  divided  into  two 
apartments  by  a  hall- way  through  the  middle.  The  room 
to  the  left,  as  one  entered,  was  called  the  dungeon ;  it  was 
without  any  light  except  the  little  that  came  through  at 


IX  PRISON  163 

second-hand  from  the  dusky  hall  by  means  of  a  small  grat 
ing  in  the  door;  the  hall  itself  was  lighted  by  a  simple 
grated  window  at  the  end  farthest  from  the  outside  door. 

When  the  sheriff  had  with  difficulty  opened  the  door  of 
the  dungeon,  he  could  not  see  anything  inside. 

"  Tom,  come  out,"  he  called. 

Mason  was  barely  acquainted  with  Tom,  but  he  was 
shocked  to  see  the  fine-looking  fellow  in  handcuffs  as  he 
came  to  the  door,  blinking  his  eyes  at  the  light,  and  show 
ing  a  face  which  wounded  pride  and  anxiety  had  already 
begun  to  make  haggard. 

"Mr.  Mason,  I  did  n't  expect  to  see  you,"  said  Tom. 
"  Did  you  hear  anything  from  mother  and  Barbara  ?  " 

"  They  're  outside,"  said  Mason.  "  I  thought  1 'd  just 
take  your  place  at  home  for  a  few  days." 

The  sheriff  had  gone  along  the  hall  to  open  the  door 
leading  into  the  room  on  the  side  opposite  the  dungeon. 
Tom  regarded  Mason  a  moment  in  silence,  and  presently 
said  with  emotion : 

"  How  can  I  make  anybody  believe  the  truth  ?  They  '11 
say  that  a  man  who  'd  kill  another  would  lie  about  it.  I 
believe  I  should  n't  care  so  much  about  the  danger  of  being 
hung,  if  I  could  only  make  a  few  people  know  that  I  did 
n't  kill  George  Lockwood.  I  can't  make  you  believe  it, 
but  I  'm  not  guilty."  As  he  said  this,  Tom  dropped  his 
eyes  from  Mason's  face,  and  an  expression  of  discourage 
ment  overspread  his  own. 

"  You  certainly  don't  seem  like  a  guilty  man,"  said  Hiram. 


164  THE  GRAYSONS 

"  The  worst  of  it  is,"  said  Torn,  as  they  followed  the 
sheriff  into  the  eastern  room  of  the  jail,  "  I  can't  think,  to 
save  my  life,  who  't  was  that  could  have  done  the  shooting. 
I  don't  know  of  any  enemy  that  Lockwood  had,  unless  you 
might  have  called  me  one.  I  hated  him  and  talked  like  a 
fool  about  shooting,  but  I  never  seriously  thought  of  such 
a  thing." 

The  eastern  room  of  the  wretched  little  jail  was  about 
fifteen  feet  wide  and  twenty  feet  long.  In  it  were  confined 
from  time  to  time  ordinary  prisoners  and  occasionally  luna 
tics,  without  separation  on  account  of  character  or  sex. 
Fortunately  Tom  had  the  jail  now  to  himself. 

The  sheriff,  who  in  those  days  was  also  the  jailer,  locked 
Mason  and  Tom  in  the  eastern  room  while  he  opened  the 
outside  door  and  admitted  Mrs.  Grayson  and  Barbara  to 
the  hall.  Then  he  locked  the  front  door  behind  them  and 
proceeded  to  unlock  the  door  of  the  eastern  room.  Barbara 
ran  in  eagerly  and  threw  her  arms  about  Tom. 

"Tell  me  truly,  Tom,"  she  whispered  in  his  ear,  "did 
you  do  it  ?  Tell  me  the  solemn  truth,  between  you  and  me." 

"  Before  God  Almighty,  Barb,"  he  answered,  "  I  did  n't 
shoot  George  Lockwood,  and  I  did  n't  even  see  him  on  the 
camp-ground.  I  was  n't  in  that  part  of  the  woods,  and  I 
had  n't  any  pistol." 

"  Tom,  I  believe  you,"  said  Barbara,  sobbing  on  his 
shoulder.  Wondering  that  her  brother  did  not  return  her 
embrace,  she  looked  down  and  saw  his  handcuffs,  and  felt, 
as  she  had  not  before,  the  horror  of  his  situation. 


'TELL  ME  TRULY,   TOM,  DID  YOU   DC  i>w?" 


IN  PKISOX  165 

Mrs.  Grayson  now  gently  pushed  Barbara  aside  and  ap 
proached  Tom. 

"  I  did  n't  do  it,  mother,"  said  Tom ;  "  I  did  n't  do  it." 

"  Of  course  you  did  n't,  Tommy ;  I  never  thought  you 
did  —  I  just  knew  you  could  n't  do  it."  And  she  put  her 
trembling  arms  about  him. 

Hiram  had  gone  into  the  corridor  from  motives  of  delicacy. 

"  Could  n't  you  move  him  into  the  east  room  ?  "  he  said 
to  the  sheriff.  "  It 's  too  bad  to  have  to  lie  in  that  dun 
geon,  without  air,  and  in  August  too.  And  is  it  necessary 
to  keep  his  handcuffs  on  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,  it  7s  the  regular  thing  to  put  a  man  into 
the  dungeon  that  >s  up  for  murder,  and  to  put  handcuffs 
on.  The  jail 's  rather  weak,  you  know ;  and  if  he  should 
escape  —  I  'd  be  blamed." 

Mason  went  into  the  dark  room  and  examined  the  dirty, 
uncomfortable  cot,  and  felt  of  the  damp  walls.  Then  he  re 
turned  to  the  east  room  just  as  Tom  was  explaining  his 
flight  from  the  camp-ground. 

"  I  saw  a  rush,"  he  said,  "  and  I  went  with  the  rest.  A 
man  was  telling  in  the  dark  that  George  Lockwood  had 
been  shot,  and  that  they  were  looking  for  a  fellow  named 
Grayson  and  were  going  to  hang  him  to  the  first  tree.  I 
ran  across  the  fields  to  our  house,  and  by  the  time  I  got 
there  I  saw  that  I  'd  made  a  mistake.  I  ought  to  have  come 
straight  to  Moscow.  I  went  into  the  house  and  came  out 
to  go  to  Moscow  and  give  myself  up,  but  I  met  the  sheriff 
at  the  gate." 


166  THE  GRAYSONS 

"  The  first  thing  is  the  inquest/'  said  Mason.  "  Have  you 
thought  about  a  lawyer  ?  " 

"  There  >s  no  use  of  a  lawyer  for  that/7  said  Tom.  "  My 
fool  talk  about  killing  Lockwood  is  circumstantial  evidence 
against  me,  and  I  ?11  certainly  be  held  for  trial  —  unless  the 
real  murderer  should  turn  up.  And  I  don't  know  who  that 
can  be.  I  've  puzzled  over  it  all  night." 

"  You  studied  with  Mr.  Blackman,  I  believe,"  said  Mason. 
"  Could  n't  you  get  him  to  defend  you  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  want  Mm.  He  's  already  prejudiced 
against  me.  He  would  n't  believe  that  I  was  innocent,  and 
so  he  could  n't  do  any  good." 

"  But  you  Ve  got  to  have  somebody,"  said  Barbara. 

"I  Ve  been  over  the  whole  list,"  said  Tom,  "and  I  'd 
rather  have  Abr'am  than  anybody  else." 

"  Abra'm  '11  do  it,"  said  Mrs.  Grayson  j  "  I  kin  git  him  to 
do  it.  He  's  a  little  beholden  to  me  fer  what  I  done  fer  him 
when  he  was  little.  But  he  's  purty  new  to  the  law-busi 
ness,  Tommy." 

"  Abra'm  Lincoln  's  rather  new,  but  he  's  got  a  long  head 
for  managing  a  case,  and  he  's  honest  and  friendly  to  us. 
The  circuit  court  begins  over  at  Perrysburg  to-morrow,  and 
he  '11  like  as  not  stop  at  the  tavern  here  for  dinner  to-day. 
You  might  see  him,  mother." 

"  Tom !  Tom  ! "  The  voice  was  a  child's,  and  it  came 
from  the  outside  of  the  window-grating.  A  child's  fingers 
were  clutched  upon  the  stones  beyond  the  grating  •  and  be 
fore  Tom  could  answer,  the  brown  head  of  Janet  Grayson 


IN  PRISON  167 

was  lifted  to  the  level  of  the  high,  square  little  window,  and 
her  blue  eyes  were  peering  into  the  obscurity  of  the  prison. 

"  Tom,  are  you  there  ?  Did  they  give  you  any  break 
fast!"  she  faltered,  startled  and  ready  to  cry  at  finding 
herself  calling  into  a  place  so  obscure  and  apparently  so 
void. 

"O  Janet!  is  that  you?"  said  Tom,  putting  his  face  to 
the  grating.  "  You  blessed  little  soul,  you  !  But  you  must 
n't  come  to  this  dreadful  place."  And  Tom  tried  to  wipe 
his  eyes  with  his  sleeve. 

"  Yes,  but  I  am  sorry  for  you,  Cousin  Tom,"  she  said, 
dropping  to  the  ground  again  and  turning  her  head  on  one 
side  deprecatingly ;  "and  I  was  afraid  they  would  n't  give 
you  enough  to  eat.  Here  's  three  biscuits."  She  pulled 
them  out  of  her  pocket  with  difficulty  and  pushed  them 
through  the  grating. 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,"  said  Tom.  "  You  are  a  dear 
loving  little  darling.  But  see  here,  Janet,  you  'd  better  not 
come  here  any  more;  and  don't  call  me  cousin.  It 's  too 
bad  you  should  have  to  be  ashamed  of  your  cousin." 

"  But  I  mil  call  you  cousin,  an'  I  don'  care  what  they  say. 
Are  you  in  there,  too,  Barbara  f  You  did  n't  kill  anybody, 
did  you  ?  " 

"No;  neither  did  Tom,"  said  Barbara,  leaning  down  to 
the  window. 

" Janet,'7  said  Tom,  "d'  you  tell  Uncle  Tom  and  Aunt 
Charlotte  that  I  did  n't  shoot  anybody.  They  won't  believe 
you,  but  it 's  a  fact." 


168  THE  GRAY  SONS 

Janet  had  heard  the  news  at  the  breakfast-table.  Sheriff 
Plunkett,  wishing  to  conciliate  so  influential  a  person  as 
Thomas  Grayson  the  elder,  had  sent  him  word  very  early 
of  the  unfortunate  predicament  in  which  Tom  found  him 
self,  and  had  offered  to  comply  with  any  wishes  Mr.  Grayson 
might  express  concerning  his  nephew,  so  far  as  the  rigor  of 
the  law  allowed.  To  steady-going  people  like  the  Graysons 
the  arrest  of  Tom  on  such  a  charge  was  a  severe  blow  j  and 
his  execution  would  compromise  for  all  time  their  hitherto 
unsullied  respectability  in  their  little  world.  They  drank 
their  breakfast  coffee  and  ate  their  warm  biscuit  and  butter 
and  fried  ham  and  eggs  with  rueful  faces.  The  comments 
they  made  on  Tom's  career  were  embittered  by  their  own 
share  of  the  penalty.  Janet  had  listened  till  she  had  made 
out  that  Tom  was  in  jail  for  killing  somebody.  Then,  after 
hearing  some  rather  severe  remarks  from  her  parents  about 
Tom,  she  burst  into  tears,  rose  up  and  stamped  her  feet  in 
passion,  and  stormed  in  her  impotent,  infantile  way  at  her 
father  and  mother  and  the  people  who  had  locked  up  Tom 
in  jail.  When  the  first  gust  of  her  indignation  had  found 
vent,  she  fled  into  the  garden  to  cool  off,  as  was  her  wont. 
After  awhile  she  came  back  and  foraged  in  the  kitchen,  where 
she  pounced  upon  three  biscuits  which  had  been  left  on  a 
plate  by  the  fire  to  keep  them  warm.  With  these  she  had 
made  off  through  the  back  gate  of  the  garden,  thence  down 
the  alley  and  across  the  public  square  to  the  jail. 

Meantime  a  lively  discussion  was  carried  on  in  the  house. 

"  We  Ve  got  to  do  something  for  Tom,  I  suppose,"  said 


IN  PRISON  169 

Mrs.  Grayson,  after  the  question  of  his  blameworthiness  was 
exhausted.  "  He 's  your  nephew,  and  we  can't  get  around 
that.  Goodness  knows  he 's  given  us  trouble  enough,  and 
expense  enough,  already."  It  was  a  favorite  illusion  with 
the  Graysons  that  they  had  spent  money  on  Tom,  though 
he  had  earned  all  he  had  received. 

"  Yes,"  said  Grayson  reluctantly ;  "  it  '11  be  expected  of 
us,  Charlotte,  to  stand  by  him.  He  's  got  no  father,  you 
know.  And  I  suppose  George  Lockwood  was  aggravating 
enough." 

"The  Lord  knows  Pin  sorry  for  Tom;  he  was  always 
good  to  Janet."  This  reminded  Mrs.  Grayson  of  her  daugh 
ter,  and  she  went  to  the  open  door  of  the  dining-room  and 
called,  "  Janet !  O  Janet !  It 's  curious  how  she  stands  by 
Tom.  She's  off  in  the  sulks,  and  won't  answer  a  word  I 
say.  I  suppose  you  '11  have  to  go  his  bail,"  she  said  with 
apprehension. 

"  No,  it 's  not  bailable.  They  don't  bail  prisoners  charged 
with  capital  offenses." 

"  That 's  a  good  thing,  anyhow.  I  hate  to  have  you  go 
security." 

"  I  suppose  Martha  '11  be  able  to  pay  the  lawyers,"  said 
Thomas  Grayson.  "  She  won't  expect  us  to  do  any  more  for 
Tom.  It 's  bad  enough  to  have  to  stand  the  disgrace  of  it." 

"  Janet !   Janet !   O  Janet !  "  called  Mrs.  Grayson  anxious 
ly.     "  I  declare,  I  'm  uneasy  about  that  child ;  it 's  nearly 
half  an  hour  since  she  went  out.     I  wish  you  'd  go  and  have 
a  look  for  her." 
15 


170  THE  GRAY  SONS 

But  at  that  moment  Janet  rushed  in  breathless  through 
the  kitchen. 

"  O  Pa  !   1 7ve  been  over  to  the  jail  to  see  Tom." 

"You  've  been  to  the  jail!"  said  Gray  son,  recoiling  in 
his  heart  from  such  an  experience  for  Janet. 

"Yes,  an7  they  Ve  put  Barbara  and  Aunt  Martha  in 
there  too,  along  with  Tom."  She  was  bursting  with  indig 
nation. 

"Thomas,"  said  Mrs.  Grayson,  as  she  gathered  up  the 
hitherto  neglected  breakfast  plates,  "  Martha  and  Barbara 
have  come  from  home  this  morning." 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Grayson,  looking  out  of  the  window. 

"  Now  it 's  not  going  to  do  for  us  to  let  them  go  without 
coming  here  to  breakfast,"  said  the  wife.  "  People  will  say 
we  7re  hardhearted ;  and  when  they  once  get  to  talking 
there 's  no  knowing  what  they  won't  say.  They  might  blame 
us  about  Tom,  though  the  Lord  knows  we  did  our  best  for 
him." 

"  Will  you  go  and  ask  Martha  and  Barbara  to  come  over?" 
said  Grayson,  with  a  sneaking  desire  to  escape  the  disagree 
able  duty. 

"  I  can't  bear  to,"  said  his  wife.  "  I  hate  to  go  to  the  jail 
and  see  Tom  there.  Besides,  if  they  're  coming  I  must  make 
some  coffee." 

Grayson  stood  still  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 

"  Will  they  let  them  come  if  you  ask  'em  ? "  inquired  Janet. 

"  Let  who  come  ?  "  said  her  father  abstractedly. 

"  Aunt  Martha  and  Barbara  and  Tom." 


IN  PRISON  171 

"  Of  course  they  '11  not  keep  your  Aunt  Martha  nor 
Barbara.  They  have  n't  killed  anybody." 

"  Neither  has  Tom.     He  told  me  to  tell  you  he  had  n't." 

"  I  suppose  they  all  talk  that  way.  ?T  ain't  like  Tom  to 
lie  about  anything  though.  He  generally  faces  it  out,  rain, 
hail,  or  shine.  I  wish  to  goodness  he  could  prove  that  he 
did  n't  kill  George.  Where  are  you  going,  Janet  f  " 

"  To  fetch  Aunt  Martha  and  Barbara.  I  wish  they  'd  let 
Tom  come  too." 

Grayson  spent  as  much  time  as  possible  in  getting  his  hat 
and  looking  it  over  before  putting  it  on.  Then,  when  he 
could  think  of  no  other  pretext  for  delay,  he  started  as 
slowly  as  possible,  in  order  to  give  Janet  time  to  fetch  his 
relatives  away  from  the  jail  before  he  should  encounter 
them.  Janet  found  her  aunt  coming  out  of  the  prison  in 
order  to  allow  the  sheriff  to  go  to  breakfast. 

"  Aunt  Martha,"  cried  Janet,  "  Ma  wants  you  an'  Barbara 
to  come  to  breakfast.  She  sent  me  to  tell  you." 

"  I  don't  like  to  go  there,"  said  Barbara  to  her  mother  in 
an  undertone. 

But  Mason,  who  was  behind,  perceiving  Barbara's  hesita 
tion,  came  up  and  whispered :  "  You  'd  better  go,  Barbara. 
Tom  will  need  all  the  help  he  can  get  from  your  uncle's 
position.  And  I  '11  take  the  horse  and  put  him  into  your 
uncle's  stable." 


XV 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

[E  village  of  Moscow  was  founded  by  adven 
turous  pioneers  while  yet  Napoleon's  Russian 
expedition  was  fresh  in  all  men's  minds,  and 
took  from  that  memory  its  Russian  name, 
which,  like  most  other  transplanted  names  of  the  sort,  was 
universally  mispronounced.  The  village  had  been  planted 
in  what  is  called  an  "  island,"  that  is,  a  grove  surrounded 
by  prairie  on  every  side.  The  early  settlers  in  Illinois  were 
afraid  to  seat  themselves  far  from  wood.  As  it  stands  to-day  ? 
the  pretty  town  is  arranged  about  a  large  public  square, 
neatly  fenced,  and  with  long  hitching-rails  on  all  four  sides 
of  it.  The  inside  of  the  square  is  trimly  kept,  and  is  am 
ply  shaded  by  old  forest-trees— the  last  survivors  of  the 
grove  that  formed  the  "  island."  Moscow  contains  a  court 
house,  which  is  pretentious  and  costly,  if  not  quite  ele 
gant,  besides  other  public  buildings.  On  the  streets  facing 
this  park -like  square  nearly  all  the  trade  of  the  thriving 
country-town  is  carried  on.  But  in  the  time  of  Tom  Gray- 
son's  imprisonment  the  public  square  was  yet  a  rough  piece 

172 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  173 

of  woods,  with  roots  and  stumps  still  obtruding  where  un 
derbrush  and  trees  had  been  cut  out.  There  was  no  fence, 
and  there  were  no  hitching-rails.  The  court-house  of  that 
day  was  a  newish  frame  building,  which  had  the  public- 
grounds  all  to  itself  except  for  the  jail,  on  one  corner  of  the 
square.  Facing  the  square,  on  the  side  farthest  from  the 
jail,  stood  the  village  tavern.  One  half  of  it  was  of  hewn 
logs,  which  marked  it  as  dating  back  to  the  broad-ax  period 
of  the  town's  growth ;  the  other  half  had  been  added  after 
the  saw-mill  age  began,  and  was  yet  innocent  of  paint,  as 
were  the  court-house  and  several  other  of  the  principal 
buildings  in  the  town.  In  front  of  the  tavern  was  a  native 
beech-tree,  left  behind  in  the  general  destruction.  Under  it 
were  some  rude  benches  which  afforded  a  cool  and  favorite 
resort  to  the  leisurely  villagers.  One  of  the  boughs  of  this 
tree  served  its  day  and  generation  doubly,  for  besides  con 
tributing  to  the  shadiness  of  the  street-corner,  it  supported 
a  pendant  square  sign,  which  creaked  most  dolefully  when 
ever  there  was  wind  enough  to  set  it  swinging  in  its  rusty 
iron  sockets.  The  name  of  the  hotel  was  one  common  to 
villages  of  small  attainments  and  great  hopes;  the  sign 
bore  for  legend  in  red  letters :  "  City  Hotel,  R.  Biggs." 

To  the  City  Hotel  there  came,  on  this  first  day  after  Tom's 
arrest,  one  of  those  solitary  horsemen  who  gave  life  to  nearly 
every  landscape  and  mystery  to  nearly  every  novel  of  that 
generation.  This  horseman,  after  the  fashion  of  the  age, 
carried  his  luggage  in  a  pair  of  saddle-bags,  which  kept  time 
to  his  horse's  trot  by  rapping  against  the  flaps  of  his  saddle. 
15* 


174  THE  GRAY  SONS 

"  Howdy,  Cap'n  Biggs,"  said  the  traveler  to  the  landlord, 
who  was  leaning  solidly  against  the  door- jamb  and  showing 
no  sign  of  animation,  except  by  slowly  and  intermittently 
working  his  jaws  in  the  manner  of  a  ruminating  cow. 

"Howdy,  Abe,"  was  the  answer.  "Where  yeh  boun' 
ferf 

"  Perrysburg,"  said  the  new  arrival,  alighting  and  stretch 
ing  the  kinks  out  of  his  long,  lank  limbs,  the  horse  mean 
while  putting  his  head  half-way  to  the  ground  and  moving 
farther  into  the  cool  shade.  Then  the  horseman  proceeded 
to  disengage  his  saddle-bags  from  the  stirrup-straps,  now 
,on  one  side  of  the  horse  and  then  on  the  other. 

"  Have  yer  hoss  fed  some  corn  ?  "  In  asking  this  question 
Captain  Biggs  with  some  difficulty  succeeded  in  detaching 
himself  from  the  door-post,  bringing  his  weight  perpendicu 
larly  upon  his  legs ;  this  accomplished  he  sluggishly  de 
scended  the  three  door-steps  to  the  ground  and  took  hold 
of  the  bridle. 

"What's  this  I  hear  about  Tom  Grayson,  Cap'n?"  said 
the  new-comer,  as  he  tried  to  pull  and  wriggle  his  trousers- 
legs  down  to  their  normal  place. 

"  Oh,  he  's  gone  'n'  shot  Lockwood,  like  the  blasted  fool 
he  is.  He  wuz  blowin'  about  it  afore  he  lef  town  las'  month, 
but  nobody  reckoned  it  wuz  anything  but  blow.  Some 
trouble  about  k-yards  an'  a  purty  gal  — John  Albaugh's  gal. 
I  s'pose  Tom's  got  to  swing  fer  it,  'nless  you  kin  kinder  be 
wilder  the  jury  like,  an'  git  him  off.  Ole  Mis'  Grayson  's 
in  the  settin'-room  now,  a-waitin'  to  see  you  about  it." 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  175 

Captain  Biggs  lifted  his  face,  on  which  was  a  week's  growth 
of  stubby  beard,  to  see  how  his  guest  would  take  this  in 
formation.  The  tall,  awkward  young  lawyer  only  drew  his 
brow  to  a  frown  and  said  nothing;  but  turned  and  went  into 
the  tavern  with  his  saddle-bags  on  his  arm,  and  walking 
stiffly  from  being  so  long  cramped  in  riding.  Passing 
through  the  cool  bar-room  with  its  moist  odors  of  mixed 
drinks,  he  crossed  the  hall  into  the  rag-carpeted  sitting-room 
beyond. 

"  Oh  Abra'm,  I  'm  tnat  glad  to  see  Jou  !  "  But  liere  the 
old  lady's  feelings  overcame  her  and  she  could  not  go  on. 

"  Howdy,  Mrs.  Grayson.  It 's  too  bad  about  Tom.  How 
did  he  come  to  do  it !  " 

"  Lawsy,  honey,  he  did  n't  do  it." 

"You  think  he  did  n't  ?" 

''  I  know  he  did  n't.  He  says  so  himself .  I  Ve  been  a-waitin' 
here  all  the  moruin'  to  see  you,  an'  git  you  to  defend  him." 

The  lawyer  sat  down  on  the  wooden  settee  by  Mrs.  Gray- 
son,  and  after  a  little  time  of  silence  said : 

"  You  'd  better  get  some  older  man,  like  Blackman." 

"  Tom  won't  have  Blackman  ;  he  won't  have  nobody  but 
Abe  Lincoln,  he  says." 

"  But  — they  say  the  evidence  is  all  against  him  ;  and  if 
that 's  the  case,  an  inexperienced  man  like  me  could  n't  do 
any  good." 

Mrs.  Grayson  looked  at  him  piteously  as  she  detected  his 
reluctance. 

"  Abra'm,  he 's  all  the  boy  I  Ve  got  left.    Ef  you  '11  defend 


176  THE  GRAY  SONS 

him  I  '11  give  you  my  farm  an'  make  out  the  deed  before  you 
begin.  An'  that 's  all  I  've  got." 

"  Farm  be  hanged ! "  said  Lincoln.  "  Do  you  think  I  don't 
remember  your  goodness  to  me  when  I  was  a  little  wretch 
with  my  toes  sticking  out  of  my  ragged  shoes !  I  would  n't 
take  a  copper  from  you.  But  you're  Tom's  mother,  and  of 
course  you  think  he  did  n't  do  it.  Now  what  if  the  evidence 
proves  that  he  did  ? n 

Barbara  had  been  sitting  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  and 
Lincoln  had  not  observed  her  in  the  obscurity  produced  by 
the  shade  of  the  green  slat  curtains.  She  got  up  and  came 
forward.  "  Abra'm,  do  you  remember  me "? " 

"  Is  this  little  Bar  by  ? "  he  said,  scanning  her  face.  "  You're 
a  young  woman  now,  I  declare." 

There  was  a  simple  tenderness  in  his  voice  that  showed 
how  deeply  he  felt  the  trouble  that  had  befallen  the 
Graysons. 

"  Well,  I  want  to  say,  Abra'm,"  Barbara  went  on,  "  that 
after  talking  to  Tom  we  believe  that  he  does  n't  know  any 
thing  about  the  shooting.  Now  you  'd  better  go  and  see 
him  for  yourself." 

"  Well,  I  '11  tell  you  what,  Aunt  Marthy,"  said  he,  relapsing 
into  the  familiar  form  of  address  he  had  been  accustomed 
to  use  toward  Mrs.  Grayson  in  his  boyhood ;  "  I  '11  go  over 
and  see  Tom,  and  if  he  is  innocent,  as  you  and  Barby  think, 
we  '11  manage  to  save  him  or  know  the  reason  why.  But  I 
must  see  him  alone,  and  he  must  n't  know  about  my  talk 
with  you." 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  177 

Lincoln  got  up,  and  laying  his  saddle-bags  down  in  one 
corner  of  the  room  went  out  immediately.  First  he  went  to 
inquire  of  Sheriff  Plunkett  what  was  the  nature  of  the  evi 
dence  likely  to  be  brought  against  Tom.  Then  he  got  the 
sheriff  to  let  him  into  the  jail  and  leave  him  alone  with  his 
client.  Tom  had  been  allowed  to  remain  in  the  lighter  apart 
ment  since  there  was  no  fear  of  his  escape  on  this  day,  when 
all  the  town  was  agog  about  the  murder,  and  people  were 
continually  coming  to  peer  into  the  jail  to  get  a  glimpse  of 
the  monster  who  in  the  darkness  had  shot  down  one  that  had 
helped  him  out  of  a  gambling  scrape. 

Lincoln  sat  down  on  the  only  stool  there  was  in  the  room, 
while  Tom  sat  on  a  bench. 

"  Now,  Tom,"  said  the  lawyer,  fixing  his  penetrating  gaze 
on  the  young  man's  face,  "you  want  to  remember  that  I  'm 
your  friend  and  your  counsel.  However  proper  it  may  be 
to  keep  your  own  secret  in  such  a  situation  as  you  are,  you 
must  tell  me  the  whole  truth,  or  else  I  cannot  do  you  any 
good.  How  did  you  come  to  shoot  Lockwood  ?" 

"  I  did  n't  shoot  Lockwood,"  said  Tom  brusquely  ;  "  and 
if  you  don't  believe  that  it 's  no  use  to  go  on." 

"  Well,  say  I  believe  it  then,  and  let 's  proceed.  Tell  me 
all  that  happened  between  you  and  that  young  man." 

Tom  began  where  this  story  begins  and  told  all  about 
turning  the  Bible  at  Albaugh's ;  about  the  gambling  in 
Wooden  &  Snyder's  store  and  how  he  was  led  into  it;  about 
his  visit  to  Hubbard  Township  to  get  money  to  pay  Lock- 
wood,  and  Rachel's  revelation  of  Lockwood's  treachery  in 


178  THE  GRAY  SONS 

telling  Ike.  Then  he  told  of  his  anger  and  his  threaten 
ing,  his  uncle's  break  with  him,  and  his  talk  with  Barbara 
the  evening  before  the  murder ;  and  finally  he  gave  a  circum 
stantial  account  of  all  that  happened  to  him  on  the  camp 
ground,  and  of  his  flight  and  arrest. 

"  But,"  said  Lincoln,  who  had  looked  closely  and  some 
times  incredulously  at  Tom's  face  while  he  spoke,  "  why  did 
you  take  a  pistol  with  you  to  the  camp-meeting  ? " 

"  I  did  not.  I  had  n't  had  a  pistol  in  my  hands  for  a  week 
before  the  shooting." 

"  But  Plunkett  says  there 's  a  man  ready  to  swear  that  he 
saw  you  do  the  shooting.  They  've  got  a  pistol  out  of  one 
of  your  drawers,  and  this  witness  will  swear  that  you  used 
just  such  an  old-fashioned  weapon  as  that." 

"  Good  Lord,  Abe !  who  would  tell  such  an  infernal  lie  on 
a  fellow  in  my  fix  ?  That  makes  my  situation  bad.'7  And 
Tom  got  up  and  walked  the  stone-paved  floor  in  excitement. 
"  But  the  bullet  will  show  that  I  did  n't  do  it.  Get  hold  of 
the  bullet,  and  if  it  fits  the  bore  of  that  old-fashioned  pistol 
I  won't  ask  you  to  defend  me." 

"  But  there  was  n't  any  bullet."  Lincoln  was  now  watch 
ing  Tom's  countenance  with  the  closest  scrutiny. 

"No  bullet!  How  in  creation  did  they  kill  him,  then?" 

" Can't  you  think?"  He  was  still  studying  Tom's  face. 

"I  don't  know  any  way  of  killing  a  fellow  with  a 
pistol  that  's  got  no  bullet  unless  you  beat  his  brains  out 
with  the  butt  of  it,  and  I  thought  they  said  George  was 
shot." 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  179 

"  So  lie  was.  But,  Tom,  1 've  made  up  my  mind  that  you 
're  innocent.  It 's  going  to  be  dreadful  hard  to  prove  it." 

"But  how  was  he  killed?"  demanded  Tom. 

"  With  buck-shot." 

Tom  stood  and  mused  a  minute. 

"Now  tell  me  who  says  I  did  the  shooting." 

"I  never  heard  of  him  before.  Sovine,  I  believe  his 
name  is." 

"  Dave  Sovine  ?  W'y,  he  >s  the  son  of  old  Bill  Sovine  ;  he  's 
the  boy  that  ran  off  four  years  ago,  don't  you  remember  ? 
He 's  the  blackleg  that  won  all  my  money.  What  does  he 
want  to  get  me  hanged  f or  ?  I  paid  him  all  I  owed  him." 

Lincoln  hardly  appeared  to  hear  what  Tom  was  saying  ; 
he  sat  now  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  grating,  lost  in 
thought. 

"  Tom,"  he  said  at  length,  "  who  was  that  strapping  big 
knock-down  fellow  that  used  to  be  about  your  place  —  hun 
ter,  fisherman,  fist-fighter,  and  all  that  ? " 

"  Do  you  mean  Bob  McCord  ? " 

"  That  must  be  the  man.  Big  Bob,  they  called  him.  He 's 
friendly  to  you,  is  n't  he  ? " 

"Oh,  yes!" 

"  Well,  you  have  Big  Bob  come  to  see  me  next  Tuesday  at 
the  tavern,  as  I  go  back.  1 11  be  there  to  dinner.  And  if  you 
are  called  to  the  inquest,  you  have  only  to  tell  the  truth.  We 
won't  make  any  fight  before  the  coroner;  you'll  be  bound 
over  anyhow,  and  it 's  not  best  to  show  our  hand  too  soon." 

With  that  he  took  his  leave.    When  he  got  out  of  the 


180  THE  GRAY  SONS 

prison  lie  found  Mrs.  Grayson  and  Barbara  waiting  to  see 
him. 

"  Well,  Aunt  Marthy,"  he  said,  "  it  don't  seem  to  me  that 
your  boy  killed  that  fellow.  It  's  going  to  be  hard  to  clear 
him,  but  he  did  n't  do  it.  I  '11  do  my  best.  You  must  get 
all  Tom's  relations  to  come  to  the  trial.  And  have  Big  Bob 
McCord  come  to  see  me  next  Tuesday." 

The  influence  of  Tom's  uncle,  judiciously  directed  by 
Hiram  Mason,  secured  for  the  accused  permission  to  remain 
in  the  light  room  of  the  prison  in  the  day-time  with  manacles 
on,  and  to  sleep  in  the  dungeon  at  night  without  manacles. 
And  the  influence  of  Janet  secured  from  Tom's  aunt  the  loan 
of  the  clean  though  ancient  and  well-worn  bedding  and  bed- 
linen  that  had  been  afforded  him  during  his  stay  in  his  uncle's 
house.  This  was  set  up  in  the  dark  room  of  the  jail  in  place 
of  the  bed  that  had  been  a  resting-place  for  villains  almost 
ever  since  the  town  was  founded. 

Understanding  that  Tom  was  to  be  taken  to  the  coroner's 
inquest  that  afternoon,  Hiram  tried  to  persuade  the  sheriff 
to  take  him  to  Perrysburg  jail  at  night  for  safety;  for  he 
had  no  knowledge  of  Bob  McCord's  plan  for  sending  the 
mob  there.  But  Plunkett  refused  this.  He  knew  that  such 
a  change  might  offend  Broad  Run  in  case  it  should  take  a 
notion  to  enforce  law  in  its  own  way,  and  Broad  Run  was 
an  important  factor  in  an  election  for  county  officers. 
Plunkett  felt  himself  to  be  a  representative  sheriff.  The 
voters  of  Broad  Run  and  others  of  their  kind  had  given  him 
his  majority,  and  he  was  in  his  place  to  do  their  will.  Ele- 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  181 

vation  to  office  had  not  spoiled  him ;  he  recognized  in  him 
self  a  humble  servant  of  the  people,  whose  duty  it  was  to 
enforce  the  law  whenever  it  did  not  conflict  with  the  wishes 
of  any  considerable  number  of  his  "  constituents."  To  his 
mind  it  did  not  appear  to  be  of  much  consequence  that  a 
man  who  deserved  hanging  should  receive  his  merited  pun 
ishment  at  the  hands  of  a  mob,  instead  of  suffering  death 
according  to  the  forms  of  law,  after  a  few  weeks  or  months 
of  delay.  But  he  was  too  cautious  to  reveal  to  Mason  the 
true  state  of  his  mind  ;  he  only  urged  that  the  removal  of 
Tom  to  Perrysburg  would  be  an  act  of  timidity  that  might 
promote  the  formation  of  a  mob  while  it  would  not  put  Tom 
out  of  their  reach ;  and  this  Mason  could  not  deny. 


16 


XVI 

THE  CORONER'S  INQUEST 

]HE  murder  of  George  Lockwood  furnished  a 
powerful  counter-excitement,  which  quite 
broke  the  continuity  of  religious  feeling,  and 
^^^^^^  lacked  little  of  completely  breaking  up  the 
camp-meeting.  Hundreds  of  men  and  women  thronged  about 
the  place  of  the  shooting  and  discussed  all  the  probable  and 
possible  details  of  the  affair,  of  which  several  versions  were 
already  current.  The  coroner  ordered  the  body  removed  to 
a  large  barn  in  the  neighborhood ;  whereupon  the  people 
rushed  thither  to  get  a  sight  of  the  dead  man,  for  there  is 
no  source  of  excitement  so  highly  prized  by  the  vulgar  as 
the  ghastly.  At  3  in  the  afternoon  the  barn  was  crowded. 
The  people  jostled  one  another  closely  upon  the  wide  thresh 
ing-floor,  and  the  wheat-mow  alongside  contained,  among 
others,  at  least  twenty  women  whose  appetite  for  the  hor 
rible  had  led  them  to  elbow  their  way  early  to  this  command 
ing  situation.  The  hay-mow  at  the  other  end  of  the  floor 
was  full  of  men  and  boys,  and  the  high  girders  were  occu 
pied  by  curious  spectators,  perched  like  rows  of  chimney- 


THE  CORONER'S  INQUEST  183 

swifts  at  the  time  of  autumnal  flitting.  More  adventurous 
youth  had  managed  to  climb  even  into  the  dizzy  collar-beams 
under  the  comb  of  the  barn,  to  the  dismay  of  the  mason- 
swallows  whose  young  were  sheltered  in  adobe  houses  at 
tached  to  the  rafters.  There  were  heads,  and  pendant  legs, 
and  foreshortened  arms  enough  in  the  upper  part  of  the  barn 
to  suggest  a  ceiling-fresco  of  the  Last  Judgment  by  an  old 
Italian  master.  Other  curious  people  had  crowded  into 
the  horse  stables  below  the  wheat-mow,  and  were  peering 
over  the  manger  into  the  threshing-floor  and  intermingling 
their  heads  with  those  of  the  beasts  of  the  stall,  much  as  the 
aforementioned  old  Italian  painters  mix  up  brute  and  human 
faces  in  their  Nativity  pieces.  The  crowd  upon  the  floor 
itself  stretched  out  of  the  wide-open  double  doors  on  each 
hand,  beyond  which  there  was  a  surging  mass  of  people 
blindly  gravitating  toward  the  center  of  excitement,  though 
all  the  proceedings  were  invisible  and  inaudible  to  them. 

On  two  boards  supported  by  kegs  and  boxes  lay  the  life 
less  body  of  Lockwood.  The  pitiful  sight  of  the  pallid  face 
and  the  eyes  sunken  in  their  sockets  exasperated  the  spec 
tators.  Between  the  body  and  the  hay-mow  the  coroner 
took  his  place  on  the  only  chair  in  the  barn  ;  at  the  opposite 
side  of  the  corpse  the  jury  was  seated  on  improvised  benches. 
Markham,  the  sheriffs  deputy,  assisted  by  a  constable,  kept 
back  the  press,  whose  centripetal  force  threatened  at  every 
movement  to  overwhelm  the  innocent  jurymen. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  the  first  witness  sworn  was  a  doc 
tor.  Coroners  begin  at  the  beginning  by  first  proving  that 


184  THE  GRAYSONS 

the  deceased  is  duly  dead,  and  so  within  their  jurisdiction ; 
and  by  finding  out  by  just  what  means  the  knife,  rope, 
poison,  or  pistol  ball  severed  the  thread  of  existence.  The 
human  passion  for  completeness  is  as  much  prone  to  show 
itself  in  law  proceedings  as  in  art  performances  5  coroners' 
inquests  like  to  go  down  to  the  physiological  principles  that 
underlie  the  great  fact  of  practical  importance,  and  to  in 
quire  what  was  the  name  and  function  of  the  particular 
artery  the  severance  of  which  put  an  end  to  consciousness 
in  a  set  of  ganglia  which,  with  their  complicated  adjuncts, 
constitute  what  we  call  a  man.  It  was  in  this  case  settled 
very  promptly  that  the  unfortunate  deceased  came  to  his 
death  by  a  charge  of  buckshot.  I  shall  not  entertain  the 
reader  with  the  anatomical  particulars,  although  these 
proved  to  be  of  the  most  pungent  interest  to  the  auditory 
at  the  inquest,  and  were  scientifically  expounded  in  every 
cross-roads  grocery  in  the  county  for  months  afterward. 
There  are  old  men  in  Illinois  who  have  n't  got  done  explain 
ing  the  manner  of  it  yet.  But  the  important  thing  was  ac 
complished  when  the  coroner  and  his  jury  were  convinced 
that  the  man  was  not  only  apparently,  but  scientifically,  and 
therefore  legally,  dead  j  thus  a  basis  was  laid  for  the  subse 
quent  proceedings. 

It  is  one  of  the  strong  points  of  a  coroner  that  he  knows 
nothing  about  what  is  held  to  be  competent  testimony,— 
nothing  of  the  strict  laws  of  relevancy  and  irrelevancy.  He 
therefore  goes  to  work  to  find  out  the  truth  in  any  way  that 
seems  good  to  him,  without  being  balked  by  that  vast  net- 


THE  CORONERS  INQUEST  185 

work  of  regulations  which  are  sure  to  embarrass  the  best 
endeavors  of  a  more  learned  court.  Markham  was  sworn 
immediately  after  the  doctor  had  finished.  It  was  his  busi 
ness  to  identify  Tom's  pistol.  I  fancy  a  lawyer  might  have 
insisted  that  no  foundation  had  been  laid  for  this  testimony ; 
but  to  the  coroner  it  seemed  the  most  orderly  way,  immedi 
ately  after  proving  that  Lockwood  had  been  killed,  to  show 
the  weapon  with  which  he  might  have  been  killed.  Mark- 
ham  swore  to  finding  this  pistol  in  Tom's  room  ;  and  the 
ocular  proof  of  the  existence  of  such  a  weapon,  in  juxtapo 
sition  with  the  ghastly  evidence  before  them  of  Loekwood's 
violent  death,  went  far  to  establish  Tom's  guilt  in  the  minds 
of  the  people.  Then  other  witnesses  swore  to  Tom's  pres 
ence  on  the  camp-ground ;  and  two  young  men  from  Moscow 
had  heard  him  threaten,  some  weeks  before,  that  he  would 
shoot  George  Lockwood. 

It  was  just  when  the  evidence  of  these  two  was  finished 
that  the  people  on  the  threshold  of  the  south  door  of  the 
barn  began  to  sway  to  and  fro  in  a  sort  of  premonitory 
wave-motion,  for  outside  of  the  door  Sheriff  Plunkett,  hav 
ing  just  arrived  from  Moscow  with  Tom  Gray  son,  was  bat 
tling  with  the  condensed  crowd  in  an  endeavor  to  reach  the 
presence  of  the  coroner. 

"  You  can't  git  through,  Sher'f,"  said  one  man.  "  This 
crowd  ?s  so  thick  you  could  bore  a  nauger  into  it." 

But  the  sheriff's  progress  was  aided  by  the  interest  of  the 
people  in  Tom.  They  could  not  resist  turning  about  to  look 
at  him,  and  every  movement  displaced  some  human  mole- 
16* 


186  THE  GRAYSONS 

cules ;  so  that  Plunkett,  aided  by  the  respect  shown  to  him 
as  an  officer,  was  able  to  push  a  little  farther  in  at  every 
budge.  But  the  people  were  not  content  with  looking  at 
Tom. 

"  You  >ve  got  to  swing  fer  it,  you  young  rascal,"  said  one 
man  as  Tom  passed. 

"  Coward  to  shoot  a  man  in  the  dark  !  "  muttered  another. 

And  ever  as  in  this  slow  progress  Tom  came  nearer  to  the 
center  he  felt  the  breath  of  the  mob  to  be  hotter.  When  he 
got  within  the  door  there  was  a  confused  rustle  among  the 
people  on  the  threshing-floor,  a  murmur  from  those  who 
jostled  one  another  in  the  hay-mows,  and  a  sound  of  indig 
nation  from  the  people  seated  on  cross-beams  and  clinging 
to  girders ;  mutterings  even  came  down  from  those  lodged 
like  overhanging  angels  in  the  dizzy  collar-beams,  fast  by 
the  barn-swallows7  nests.  Such  excited  crowds  are  choruses 
who  wait  for  some  one  to  give  them  the  key ;  the  pitch  of 
the  first  resolute  voice  determines  the  drift  of  feeling.  If 
somebody  had  called  out  at  this  moment  for  fair  play,  the 
solvent  feeling  of  the  crowd  might  have  crystallized  about 
this  one.  But  indignation  got  tongue  first. 

"  Hang  him ! "  The  words  came  from  the  corner  of  the 
threshing-floor  farthest  from  the  coroner,  and  in  an  instant 
the  tide  of  feeling  ran  swiftly  to  that  side.  Tom  recognized 
the  harsh  voice,  and  realized  his  danger  in  perceiving  that 
the  resentful  Jake  Hogan  was  leading  those  who  sought  to 
lynch  him. 

When  the  sheriff,  with  Gray  son,  had  penetrated  to  the 


THE  CORONER'S  INQUEST  187 

neighborhood  of  the  coroner,  the  inquest  was  continued  by 
calling  David  Sovine.  This  young  man,  with  stylish  trou 
sers  strapped  down  to  patent-leather  shoes,  came  forward 
chewing  tobacco  and  affecting  a  self-confident  swagger.  He 
took  the  oath  nonchalantly. 

"  Tell  us  what  you  know  of  the  murder  of  George  Lock- 
wood,"  said  the  coroner. 

"  Well,  me  an'  George  had  been  together,  an*  we  parted. 
He  was  goin'  to-wards  his  horse  an'  me  to-wards  the  camp- 
meetin7.  I  was  about  twenty  foot,  or  maybe  twenty-five  foot, 
away  from  'im  when  along  come  Tom  Gray  son  an'  says,  says 
he,  '  I  'm  boun'  to  git  even  with  you  wunst  f er  all.'  I  looked 
aroun',  an'  Tom  was  aimin'  his  pistol.  George  Lockwood 
says,  says  he,  ( Don't  shoot  me,  Tom ' ;  but  Tom  he  up  an' 
fired,  an'  George  jist  keeled  over  like,  an'  never  said  another 
word.  Tom  run  off  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him.  I 
run  up  to  George,  an'  he  was  layin'  there  dead 's  a  door-nail. 
Then  the  crowd  come  a-runnin',  an'  that's  about  all  I  know 
about  it." 

"  D'  you  remember  the  pistol  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Was  it  like  this?" 

"  Yes ;  an  ole-f ashioned  big  bore  single-barrel  like  that,  I 
should  say." 

"  That  '11  do.    You  can  stand  aside,"  said  the  coroner. 

"  Hang  him  ! "  cried  Jake  Hogan ;  and  there  were  other 
cries  that  showed  how  swiftly  and  terribly  the  current  was 
setting  in  the  direction  indicated  by  Jake. 


188  THE  GRAY  SONS 

Tom  Gray son  was  sworn. 

"Now,"  said  the  coroner,  "you  don't  have  to  criminate 
yourself.  If  you  cannot  answer  any  question  asked  of  you 
without  criminating  you,  you  can  decline  to  give  an  answer.'7 

For  how  many  ages  have  Anglo-Saxons  made  their  criminal 
law  ridiculous  by  this  rule  ! 

"  Now,"  the  coroner  went  on,  "  tell  us  just  what  you  know 
about  the  shooting  at  the  camp-meeting." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  at  all  about  it,"  said  Tom  with 
agitation.  "I  have  n't  seen  George  Lockwood  since  I 
quarreled  with  him  in  Moscow  till  I  saw  him  here."  And 
he  pointed  with  a  trembling  finger  to  the  stark  form  of  the 
man  he  had  hated. 

"  Lie  ! "  cried  Hogan.     The  coroner  called,  "  Order! " 

"  Aw ! "  said  one  of  the  women  in  the  wheat-mow.  "  To 
think  he  could  have  the  impedence  to  hole  up  his  head  an7 
talk  that  away  un  the  corpse  right  there  afore  his  eyes ! " 

"  Do  you  know  that  pistol  ?  "  asked  the  coroner. 

Tom  took  it  up  and  looked  at  some  marks  on  the  butt 
of  it. 

"  It 's  mine,"  he  said. 

"  Did  you  have  it  at  the  camp-meeting  ? " 

"  No,  nor  any  other." 

"You  are  not  obliged  to  criminate  yourself,"  said  the 
coroner  again ;  "  but  did  n't  you  see  Lockwood  killed  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Tom.  "  It 's  all  a  lie  that  Dave  Sovine  swore 
to,  and  he  knows  it.  I  was  n't  on  that  part  of  the  ground." 

"Hang  him ! "  interjected  Hogan. 


THE  CORONER'S  INQUEST  189 

"  The  bah-y  is  awful  plucky,  upon  ine  sowl,"  said  Magill, 
who  was  standing  on  a  plow-beam  in  order  to  see  over  the 
heads  of  the  crowd.  "  It  would  be  a  pity  to  hang  a  man  of 
such  good  stuff." 

"  The  bare-faced  villain ! "  growled  the  man  next  to  him, 
and  the  unfavorable  impression  evidently  had  way  with  the 
crowd.  When  people  have  once  made  up  their  mind  as  to 
how  a  thing  has  happened,  they  do  not  like  to  have  their 
fixed  notions  disturbed.  Tom's  heart  sank  j  he  could  see  that 
the  chance  for  his  getting  back  to  the  jail  alive  was  growing 
smaller.  Hiram  Mason  had  attached  himself  to  Tom  and 
the  sheriff,  and  had  elbowed  his  way  to  the  front  in  their 
wake  ;  the  people,  supposing  that  he  had  some  official  func 
tion,  made  way  for  him.  He  now  got  the  ear  of  the  sheriff. 

"  If  you  don't  get  Tom  away  at  once  he  '11  be  lynched," 
he  said. 

"  I  know  it  j  but  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  said  Plunkett. 
"  If  I  make  any  move,  I  '11  fetch  the  crowd  down  on  Tom." 

"  Get  him  down  into  the  cow-stable  under  the  barn,  and 
let  Markham  take  him  off.  You  stay  here  and  they  won't 
suspect  that  he  's  gone." 

There  was  something  pitiable  about  the  sheriff's  inability 
to  mako  a  decision  at  a  critical  moment.  He  looked  at  the 
angry  crowd,  who  were  paying  little  attention  to  the  testi 
mony  of  unimportant  witnesses,  and  he  looked  at  the  coro 
ner.  He  did  n't  like  to  bear  the  responsibility  of  having  a 
prisoner  taken  from  his  hands ;  still  more  he  disliked  to 
offend  so  many  voters. 


THE  GEAYSONS 


"  Settle  it  with  Markham  and  the  coroner,"  he  said,  sneak 
ing  out  of  the  decision  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  make. 
"  Mr.  Markham,"  whispered  Hiram,  "  the  sheriff  wants  you 
and  me  to  get  Tom  off.  1  11  get  the  horses  ready,  and  you 
and  Tom  are  to  come  out  through  the  cow-stable.  Speak 
to  the  coroner  about  it,  and  don't  let  the  crowd  see  it.  If 
we  don't  get  him  away  before  this  thing  breaks  up  he  '11 
never  get  to  town  alive." 

"All  right,"  said  Markham.  "I'll  be  in  the  cow-stable 
with  Tom  when  you  're  ready." 

Jake  Hogan  had  already  gone  out  to  muster  his  men,  and 
Hiram  was  very  impatient  at  the  long  time  it  took  him  to  work 
his  way  outward.  He  was  a  little  annoyed  when  Magill, 
getting  down  from  the  plow-beam,  stopped  him  to  whisper  : 
"  J  sa7,  y°u  're  Tom's  friend.  Now  what  can  I  do  for  the 
bah-y  f  I  s'pose  he  's  guilty,  but  I  don't  want  to  see  such  a 
bowld  gintleman  as  he  is  lynched  by  such  a  set  of  howlin' 
blackguards  as  these." 

"  Go  over  there  arid  stand  in  front  of  Tom,  so  that  the 
people  won't  see  him  and  Markham  when  they  get  down  into 
the  cow-stable." 

Having  whispered  this  between  his  teeth,  Mason  pain 
fully  worked  his  way  out  of  the  door,  while  Magill  pushed 
forward  toward  the  coroner.  For  Magill  the  people  made 
way  as  best  they  could,  supposing  that  the  clerk  was  one  of 
the  functionaries  without  whom  the  performance  could  not 
proceed.  The  coroner  had  acceded  to  Markham's  proposi 
tion  and  was  contriving  to  protract  the  session.  Magill  called 


THE  CORONER'S  INQUEST  191 

Sheriff  Plunkett  to  him  and  made  that  worthy  stand  in 
unimportant  conversation  with  him,  so  that  they  two  cov 
ered  from  all  observers  first  Markham's  descent  and  then 
Tom's.  The  deputy  sheriff  and  then  his  prisoner  had  to 
climb  over  a  hay-rack  and  thence  down  to  the  ground.  The 
cow-stable  was  beneath  that  end  of  the  barn  which  jutted 
over  a  hill-side  descending  to  a  brook.  As  nothing  was  to 
be  seen  from  this  stable,  there  was  nobody  in  it  but  a  few 
boys. 

When  Mason  came  to  say  that  he  was  ready,  Markham 
passed  out  with  his  prisoner  and  down  the  hill-side  to  the 
bed  of  the  brook,  where  Mason  had  brought  the  deputy's 
horse  and  old  Blaze.  Tom  had  been  brought  to  the  inquest 
in  a  wagon ;  but  as  it  was  necessary  to  avoid  the  main  road, 
Mason  had  unharnessed  Blaze  for  Tom  to  ride.  As  the  hoofs 
of  the  horses  clattered  down  over  the  stones  in  the  bed  of 
the  stream,  Tom  felt  as  a  man  might  who  had  but  just  eluded 
the  coils  of  a  boa-constrictor.  In  a  little  while  the  two  were 
galloping  over  the  open  prairie  toward  Moscow  by  by-roads. 
The  prisoner's  absence  was  observed ;  but,  as  the  sheriff 
remained,  it  was  not  at  first  suspected  that  he  had  got  entirely 
away.  People  looked  for  him  and  inquired  of  one  another 
where  "  they  had  put  him."  At  length  the  testimony  was 
all  in,  and  the  case  was  given  to  the  jury.  These  "  good 
men  and  true,"  as  the  old  English  law  supposes  them  to  be, 
,  retired  for  consultation;  that  is,  they  changed  places  with 
the  coroner  and  stood  with  their  faces  toward  the  wall  in 
the  corner  and  their  backs  toward  the  crowd,  which  now 


192  THE  G  EAT  SONS 

buzzed  like  a  nest  of  indignant  bumble-bees.  After  a  few 
minutes,  the  jury  turned  and  their  foreman  read  the  verdict : 

"  We  find  that  George  Lockwood  came  to  his  death  by 
being  shot  with  buckshot,  fired  from  a  pistol  by  Thomas 
Grayson,  Junior,  and  we  recommend  that  the  said  Thomas 
Grayson  be  committed  to  answer  to  the  charge  of  murder." 

When  this  formal  condemnation  had  been  read,  the  pas 
sions  of  the  crowd  broke  over  all  bounds,  and  the  words  of 
the  coroner,  formally  ordering  the  commitment  of  the  pris 
oner,  were  not  heard.  Cries  of  "  Hang  him !  Hang  him  to  the 
first  tree ! »  mingled  with  curses,  broke  forth.  Men  swung 
themselves  down  from  the  high  beams  and  there  was  a  rush 
from  the  mows,  while  the  women  among  the  wheat-sheaves 
drew  back  in  terror  as  they  might  have  done  in  a  rising 
hurricane.  The  crowd  surged  hither  and  thither  about  the 
outside  of  the  barn,  and  surrounded  the  sheriff  and  the 
coroner,  demanding  the  prisoner.  It  was  more  than  five 
minutes  after  the  verdict  was  in  before  it  was  believed  that 
Tom  had  been  taken  away,  and  then  the  mob  were  bewildered 
by  the  certainty  that  nobody  had  seen  him  taken  down  the 
Moscow  road.  Foiled  in  their  purpose,  they  fell  away,  and 
the  tide  of  passion  began  to  ebb.  But  the  more  determined 
rallied  about  Hogan,  and  agreed  to  meet  him  at  the  Broad 
Run  grocery  after  dark,  to  make  arrangements  for  a  trip  to 
the  county-seat  during  the  night. 


XVII 

A  COUNCIL  OF   WAR 

S  soon  as  Zeke  had  eaten  the  frugal  supper  of 
mush  and  milk  that  Mrs.  Britton  set  out  for 
him,  he  sought  the  dilapidated  little  Broad  Run 
grocery.  The  building  was  of  logs,  and  had  a 
pair  of  deer's  antlers  over  the  door  for  a  sign  that  it  was  in 
one  sense  a  public  house.  The  low  door,  with  its  threshold 
on  the  level  of  the  ground,  the  one  square,  dingy  little  win 
dow,  and  the  shabby  stick  chimney,  in  the  chinks  of  which 
the  clay  plaster  was  cleaving,  gave  the  place  a  run-down 
expression.  In  looking  at  the  building,  one  got  a  notion 
that  it  would  like  to  slink  away  if  it  could.  Zeke  found 
nobody  in  but  the  proprietor,  a  boozy-headed  looking  man, 
with  his  hands  usually  in  his  trousers'  pockets,  and  his 
swollen  eye-lids  never  wide  open.  The  stock  of  groceries 
was  small ;  two  barrels  of  corn- whisky  and  one  of  molasses 
were  the  dominant  elements ;  a  quart  cup  and  some  glasses 
stood  on  a  dirty  unpainted  poplar  counter,  beside  a  pair  of 
scales.  The  whole  interior  had  a  harmonious  air  of  sloth, 
stupidity,  and  malpropriety ;  and  its  compound  odors  were 
17  iw 


194  THE   GEAYSONS 

as  characteristic  as  indescribable.  Zeke  waited  about  awhile, 
wondering  that  no  one  should  have  come  to  the  rendezvous. 

"Where's  Jake  HoganP  he  enquired  of  the  "grocery- 
keeper." 

"  I  dunno." 

Zeke  had  anticipated  this  answer.  The  man  never  did 
know  anything  but  the  price  of  his  liquors.  It  was  the 
safest  way  for  one  who  kept  such  a  resort  and  heard  so 
many  confidences,  and  it  was  a  way  of  answering  questions 
that  required  the  least  exertion. 

"  But  I  wuz  to  meet  him  here." 

"  Oh,  you  wuz  ! "  Then,  after  awhile,  he  asked,  "  Been 
over  to  his  house  ? " 

"  No." 

The  grocery-keeper  did  not  say  any  more,  but  Zeke  con 
jectured  that  the  meeting  had  adjourned  to  Jake  Hogan's 
cabin  for  greater  privacy.  Zeke  made  his  way  over  there 
with  much  stumbling,  for  the  night  was  rather  a  dark  one  in 
the  woods.  The  cabin  which  was  now  owned  and  occupied 
by  Hogan  was,  like  most  of  the  Broad  Run  dwellings, 
built  of  round  logs  with  the  bark  on  j  that  is  to  say,  the 
bark  had  been  left  on  when  the  house  was  built,  but  years 
of  rain  and  sun  had  peeled  off  about  half  of  it,  and  left  the 
house  spotted  and  ragged.  There  was  but  one  room,  and 
one  might  enter  this  without  ceremony,  for  the  door  stood 
wide  open,  though  not  on  account  of  hospitality.  This 
door  was  made  of  heavy  puncheons  and  had  originally  hung 
on  wooden  hinges,  but  the  uppermost  hinge  had  come  off  six 


A  COUNCIL  OF  WAR  195 

months  before,  and  though  Jake  had  "'lowed  to  fix  it" 
nearly  every  day  since,  it  had  not  been  repaired,  for  Hogan 
was  a  public-spirited  citizen,  deeply  interested  in  politics, 
and  in  reformatory  movements  like  the  present  one  for 
hanging  Tom  Grayson ;  and  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that 
such  a  man  could,  in  the  nature  of  things,  spare  time  to 
put  a  paltry  hinge  on  a  door,  when  grave  questions  were 
always  likely  to  be  mooted  at  the  grocery.  So  every  morn 
ing  the  clumsy  door  was  lifted  aside ;  at  bed-time  it  was 
with  difficulty  partly  hoisted  and  partly  shoved  back  into 
its  place.  If  the  night  was  very  warm,  the  ceremony  of 
closing  the  door  was  omitted.  Locks  were  not  necessary  in 
a  neighborhood  like  Broad  Run,  where  honesty  was  hardly 
a  virtue,  there  being  so  little  temptation  to  theft.  Jake's 
house  contained  a  rude  home-made  bedstead  of  poles,  and 
two  or  three  stools  of  the  householder's  own  manufacture. 
Hogan  "  'lowed  "  some  day  to  make  one  or  two  more  stools 
and  a  table.  At  present,  he  and  his  wife  patiently  ate  from 
skillet  and  pot,  until  the  table  should  be  made.  It  was 
something  to  have  conceived  the  notion  of  a  table,  and  with 
that  Jake  rested.  There  was  a  large  fire-place  built  of 
sticks  and  clay  j  it  had  stones  for  andirons  and  was  further 
furnished  with  a  pot,  not  to  mention  a  skillet,  which  stood 
on  two  legs  and  a  stone  and  had  lost  its  handle.  Jake 
always  'lowed  he  'd  get  a  new  skillet ;  but  he  postponed  it 
until  he  should  have  more  money  than  was  absolutely  need 
ful  to  buy  indispensable  clothes  and  whisky  with.  There 
was  also  a  hoe,  on  which  Mrs.  Jake  baked  cold  water  hoe- 


196  Til K   GRAYSONS 

cakes  when  she  had  company  to  supper.  For  shovel,  a 
rived  clapboard  had  been  whittled  into  a  handle  at  one  end. 
Some  previous  owner  had  been  rich  enough  and  extrava 
gant  enough  to  have  the  four-light  window  glazed,  but  all 
the  panes  were  now  broken.  An  old  hat,  too  shabby  even 
for  Jake  to  wear,  filled  the  place  of  one  of  the  squares  of 
glass;  the  rest  of  the  sash  was  left  open  for  light  and 
ventilation. 

Secure  as  Jake  and  his  party  felt  from  legal  interference, 
they  had  chosen  to  retire  to  this  cabin  instead  of  remain 
ing  at  the  grocery.  This  secrecy  was  rather  an  involuntary 
tribute  of  respect  for  the  law  than  an  act  of  caution.  Mrs. 
Hogan,  whose  household  duties  were  of  the  lightest,  had 
been  sent  away,  and  into  Jake's  cabin  a  party  of  twenty  had 
crowded,  so  far  as  was  possible  for  them  to  get  in.  Some 
stood  outside  of  the  door,  and  Zeke  had  to  find  a  place  at 
the  broken  window  in  order  to  hear  what  was  going  on. 
This  was  a  muster  of  the  leaders  and  the  center  of  the  party  j 
one  of  the  "boys"  had  been  sent  to  the  camp-ground  to 
seek  recruits  who  were  not  to  be  trusted  in  this  council  of 
war.  The  recruits  were  notified  to  assemble  at  the  cross 
roads  "  'twix  midnight  un  moon-up." 

The  first  that  Zeke  made  out  was  that  Jake  was  relieving 
his  mind  in  a  little  speech : 

"  D'  yeh  know  they  've  gone  un  set  up  the  k-yards  onto 
us,  boys?  Soon 's  Uncle  Lazar  h-yer  tole  me >t  Bob  McCord 
ud  come  over  h-yer  a-huntin',  I  know'd  he  wuz  arter  sum- 
pin'  ur  nother  besides  b'ars.  Bob  's  purty  toPable  cute,  but 


A  COUNCIL  OF  WAR  197 

he  a'n't  the  on'y  cute  feller  in  the  worl'.  Me  'n'  Uncle  Lazar 
jes  laid  fer  'im.  Ketch  Jake  Hogan  asleep,  won'  cheh ! 
Uncle  Lazar,  thar,  when  he  seen  Bob  a-comin'  down  the  run 
weth  a  b'ar  on  'is  shoulder,  he  jes'  soaks  'im  weth  whisky, 
un  then  'im  un  S'manthy  worms  it  out  'v  'm  what  he  wuz 
a-loafin'  over  yer  fer  un  not  at  the  eenques'.  He  would  n' 
noways  tell  Uncle  Lazar,  but  he 's  kind-uh  fond  uv  S'manthy, 
un  she  's  smart,  S'manthy  is.  She  jes'  kind-uh  saf-sawdered 
'im  un  coaxed  'im  up,  tell  he  could  n'  keep  it  in  no  longer, 
bein'  a  leetle  meller,  un  he  tole  'er  't  'e  wuz  a-spying  aroun' 
so  's  to  let  the  shurruff  know  ?f  we  'd  got  wind  uv  'is  plans, 
un  't  ?e  expected  to  have  the  larf  on  Jake  to-morry.  But 
Uncle  Lazar  'n'  me  've  got  that  fixed  up,  un  Bob  wuz  n't 
more  'n  out-uh  sight  afore  Uncle  Lazar  wuz  a  trit-trottin'  'n 
'is  way,  yeh  know,  fer  Jake  Hogan's.  Bob  's  a-comin'  over 
to-morry  to  fetch  back  Uncle  Lazar's  mar'  un  have  the  larf 
onto  us.  But  he  took  jes'  one  too  many  pulls  at  Lazar's 
jug."  Here  Jake  paused  to  vent  a  laugh  of  self-complacency 
and  exultation. 

"  Thunder  'n'  light'in',  Jake,"  called  out  one  of  the  party 
who  stood  outside  of  the  door,  beyond  the  light  of  the 
flickering  blaze  on  the  hearth,  "  what  did  Bob  tell  S'manthy  ? 
Why  don'  choo  tell  us,  anyways?  You  're  a  long  time 
a-gittin'  to  the  p'int.  The  business  afore  this  yer  meetin'  is 
to  hang  Tom  Gray  son  to  a  short  meter  toon.  Now  you  tell 
me,  what 's  Uncle  Lazar's  whisky- jug  got  to  do  weth  that? 
What 's  the  needcessity  uv  so  much  jaw?" 

"  Don'  choo  fret  the  cattle  now,"  said  Jake.  "  You  want 
17* 


198  THE   GRATSOyS 

to  know  what  Bob  tole  S'manthy  ?  Wy  ut  the  shurruff  was 
a-sendin'  Tom  Grayson  f  om  the  eenques'  over  to  Perrys- 
burg  jail  to  git  him  out-uh  your  way.  I  'low  that  's  got 
sumpin'  to  do  weth  the  business  afore  the  meetin',  hain't 
it?" 

"  Maybe  he  wuz  a-f  oolin'  S'manthy,"  said  the  interlocutor, 
in  a  voice  a  little  subdued. 

"  Maybe  he  wuz  n't,"  retorted  Jake. 

"  He  wuz  drunk  ez  a  fool/'  piped  up  Uncle  Lazar  in  a 
quivering  treble.  "  He  mus'  'a'  tuck  'most  a  quart  out-uh 
my  jug,  un  he  could  n'  stan'  straight  w'en  'e  went  away. 
He  tuck  keer  never  to  say  Perrysburg  to  me,  but  he  talked 
about  shootin'  you-all  down  at  Moscow,  jes  zif  shootin'- 
irons  wuz  a-goiu'  to  skeer  sech  a  devilish  passel  uv  fellers 
ez  you-all.  I  could  n'  git  nuthin'  more  out  'v  ?m.  But  I 
seed  all  the  time  't  they  wuz  sumpin'  kinday  kep'  in,  like. 
He  on'y  let  on  to  S'manthy  arter  I  'd  gone  outay  doors,  un 
when  he  wuz  thes  chock  full  un  one  over.  Un  he  tied 
S'manthy  up  so  orful  tight  about  it,  she  kinday  hated  to 
tell  me,  un  I  had  to  thes  tell  'er  't  she  mus'." 

"  Jes  y'  all  look  at  the  case,"  said  Jake,  with  a  clumsy 
oratorical  gesture.  "  Tom's  uncle  's  one  uv  them  ar  rich 
men  what  always  gets  the'r  own  way,  somehow  ur  nuther. 
That  's  what  we  're  up  fer.  Ef  we  don't  settle  this  yer 
business  by  a  short  cut  acrost  the  woods,  they  '11  be  a  pack 
uv  lawyers  a-provin'  that  black 's  white,  un  that  killin'  hain't 
no  murder  no- ways,  un  Tom  '11  git  off  'cause  he  's  got  kin 
what  kin  pay  fer  the  law,  un  buy  up  the  jury  liker  'n  not. 
A  pore  man  don'  stan'  no  kind  uv  a  chance  in  this  yer  dod- 


A  COUNCIL  OF  WAR  199 

rotted  country.  Down  in  North  Kerliny,  whar  I  come 
from,  7t  wuz  different.  Now  I  say  sass  fer  the  goose  is  —  " 

"  Aw,  well,  what  7s  sass  got  to  do  weth  the  question,  Jake  ? 
We  're  all  in  favor  uv  the"  pore  man,  cause  that 7s  us,"  said 
his  opponent,  from  outside  the  door. 

"  Well,"  retorted  Jake,  "  what  would  ole  Tom  do  for  young 
Tom  7t  this  time  ?  Ainh  ?  Jes  you  screw  up  yer  thinkin7 
machine,  ef  you  7ve  got  ary  one,  un  tell  me  that.  Would  n'  he 
jes  natf rally  get  the  shurruff  to  put  out  to  Perry sburg  weth 
7im,  un  then  git  a  change  uv  venoo,  un  then  buy  up  a  jury  un 
a  passel  uv  dodrotted  lawyers  un  git  7im  off ;  ur  else  hire 
some  feller  to  break  open  the  jail  un  sen'  the  young  scamp 
to  t7  other  side  of  the  Mississip7  ?  It  stan's  to  nater  7t  Tom 
Grayson  7s  in  Perry  sburg  jail  to-night.77 

"  Un  it  stands  to  nater/7  said  one  of  the  company,  "  that 
Broad  Run  7s  a-goin7  to  make  a  frien'ly  visit  to  the  nex7 
county  to-night.  Un  it  stan's  to  nater  we  7re  goin7  to  settle 
Hank  Plunkett's  hash  at  the  next  'lection  fer  shurruff.'7 

"  Now  yer  a-talkiu'  sense,77  cried  another  of  the  crowd. 

As  soon  as  it  was  clear  that  the  meeting  was  in  favor  of 
going  to  Perrysburg,  the  gathering  began  to  break  up, 
some  of  the  men  feeling  by  this  time  a  strong  gravitation 
towards  the  grocery.  Zeke  went  to  Jake  Hogan  and 
explained  that  he  "  mus'  be  a-goin7.7' 

"You  know,77  he  added,  "I  7ve  ruther  got  to  steal  my 
hoss.  The  ole  man  Britton  mout  lemme  have  one  ef  the  ole 
woman  7d  let  Mm.  But  I  know  she  jest  nat'rally  won't. 
So  1 7d  better  go  back  un  git  to  bed,  then  when  the  folks  is 
asleep  1 711  crawl  out.77 


XVIII 

ZEKE 

WO  things  lay  heavy  on  Zeke  Tucker's  mind 
as  he  hastened  toward  Britton's.  For  the 
life  of  him  he  could  not  tell  whether  Perrys- 
burg  was  the  destination  to  which  Bob  wished 
to  send  Jake,  or  whether  Jake  might  not  be  right  in  sup 
posing  that  Bob  had  incautiously  betrayed  his  own  secret. 
But  this  was  Bob's  affair ;  what  troubled  him  most  was  to 
devise  a  way  by  which  he  could  get  possession  of  a  piece  of 
candle.  Mrs.  Britton  would  not  allow  a  hired  man  to  have 
a  light.  "  Any  man  that  could  n'  feel  ?is  way  into  bed  mus7 
be  simple,"  she  said. 

Zeke  found  the  old  people  out  of  bed  later  than  usual. 
Mrs.  Britton  had  been  churning,  and  the  butter  "  took  a  con 
trary  streak,"  as  she  expressed  it,  and  refused  to  come  until 
she  and  the  old  man  had  churned  alternately  for  two  hours. 
She  was  working  the  butter  when  Zeke  came  in  and  sat 
down.  Watching  his  chance,  he  managed  to  snatch  a  tiny 
bit  of  candle-end  that  had  been  carefully  laid  up  on  the 
mantel-piece.  But  when  Mrs.  Britton's  lighted  candle  flick- 


200 


ZEKE  201 

ered  in  its  socket,  she  went  to  get  the  piece  that  was  already 
in  Zeke's  pocket. 

"  I  declare  to  goodness,"  she  said,  as  she  fumbled  among 
the  bits  of  string  and  other  trumpery  on  the  shelf,  "  where 's 
that  piece  of  candle  gone  to  ?  Do  you  know,  Cyrus  ? " 

This  question  was  addressed  to  her  husband,  who  never 
did  know  where  anything  she  wanted  "  had  gone  to."  But 
she  always  gave  vent  to  her  feelings  by  asking  him,  and  he 
always  answered,  as  he  did  now,  with  an  impassive  "  No." 

"  Zeke,  d'  you  see  that  short  piece  of  candle  that  was  here 
on  the  shelf!" 

Zeke  rose  and  affected  to  look  for  it. 

"  I  don't  see  nothin'  uv  it,"  he  said  at  length. 

"  Well,  if  the  rats  ain't  a-gittin'  no  better  fast.  Who  'd 
a>  believed  they  7d  >a>  got  up  on  the  shelf  ? "  So  saying,  she 
reluctantly  lighted  a  fresh  candle  to  take  her  butter  to  the 
spring. 

By  the  time  she  was  well  out  of  the  back  door,  Zeke,  with 
one  eye  on  the  lethargic  Britton,  who  was  now  a-doze  in  his 
chair,  raked  a  hot  coal  from  the  ashes,  and  blowing  it  to  a 
flame  lighted  his  bit  of  candle  with  it.  Then  he  quickly 
climbed  to  the  loft,  and  opening  the  window-shutter  put  the 
candle  in  the  glassless  window  on  the  side  of  the  chimney 
toward  Perrysburg.  He  was  shivering  for  fear  the  old 
woman  would  see  the  light,  though  she  was  at  the  other  end 
of  the  house,  and  he  was  yet  more  afraid  that  Bob  would 
not  see  it  before  it  should  burn  out.  Hearing,  at  length,  the 
crack  of  Bob's  rifle,  he  extinguished  the  expiring  wick  and 


202  THE   Gil  AY  SONS 

slipped  down  the  ladder  without  arousing  the  slumbering 
old  man. 

"  I  expect  they 's  another  man  shot/'  said  Mrs.  Britton,  when 
she  came  back.  If  she  had  ever  been  a  planter's  wife  her 
pronunciation  had  probably  degenerated,  though  her  archaic 
speech  was  perhaps  a  shade  better  than  the  "low  down7' 
language  of  Broad  Run. 

" Why?"  asked  Zeke. 

"  Oh !  I  heerd  a  gun  go  off,  un  gniis  ain't  common  at  9 
o'clock  at  night.  An7 1  thought  I  saw  a  flicker  uv  light  in 
our  loft  jus'  now,  but  ifc  went  out  as  soon  as  the  gun  went 
off.  It  made  me  feel  creepy,  like  the  house  was  ha'nted." 
And  she  again  began  to  look  on  the  mantel-piece  for  the  lost 
bit  of  candle  which  she  was  loath  to  give  up. 

"  I  'in  a-goin'  to  bed,"  said  Zeke,  "  ghos's  ur  no  ghos's  ";  and 
he  again  mounted  the  ladder.  After  he  had  lain  on  the  bed 
with  his  clothes  on  for  an  hour,  keeping  himself  awake  with 
difficulty,  he  felt  sure  that  the  old  couple  below  stairs  must 
be  sound  asleep.  He  softly  opened  the  square  window,  the 
wooden  shutter  of  which  made  no  sound,  as  it  swung  on 
hinges  of  leather  cut  from  an  ancient  boot-top.  Then  he 
climbed  out  on  the  projecting  ends  of  the  sticks  which 
composed  the  chimney,  and  cautiously  descended  to  the 
ground. 

"  Cyrus ! "  said  Mrs.  Britton  to  her  husband  ;  "  did  n't  you 
hear  that  noise  ? " 

«  What  noise?" 

"  That  scratchin'  kind-uh  noise  inside  of  the  chimbley." 


ZEKE  203 

"  No,  I  don't  hear  nothin' n ;  and  the  old  man  made  haste 
to  resume  his  sleep  where  he  had  left  off. 

"  I  do  believe  this  house  is  ha'nted,"  sighed  Mrs.  Britton 
to  herself. 

The  next  morning  when  she  woke  up  she  called  out,  ac 
cording  to  her  wont,  to  the  hired  man  in  the  loft :  "Zeke  ! 
Zeke!  O  Zeke!" 

She  got  no  reply.  Vexed  of  all  things  that  a  hired  man 
should  lose  a  minute  of  time,  she  called  again  in  vain.  A 
minute  later  she  was  about  to  get  up  and  go  to  the  ladder 
so  as  to  be  better  heard,  when  there  came  to  her  the  sound 
of  Zeke  chopping  wood  at  the  back  door. 

"  Well,  ef  the  world  ain't  a-eomin'  to  ?n  end,  when  Zeke 
Tucker  gits  up  an'  goes  to  choppin'  of  'is  own  accord ! " 

When  Zeke  came  in  to  breakfast,  she  said :  "  You  're  out 
bright  and  airly  this  morninV 

"  Yes  ;  I  could  n'  sleep." 

"  D'  you  hear  that  scratchin'  in  the  chimbley  ? " 

"  Ya-as,"  said  Zeke,  with  hesitation.  He  was  relieved  that 
the  conversation  should  be  broken  at  this  point  by  the 
entrance  of  the  old  man  from  the  stable. 

"  Zeke,"  said  Britton,  as  he  drew  his  chair  to  the  table, 
"what  's  the  matter  with  ole  Gray?" 

"  I  never  noticed  nothin'  when  I  gin  him  'is  oats.  But 
't  wuz  n't  fa'rly  light  then." 

"  He 's  been  rode.  They 's  sweat  marks  onto  him,  un  the 
saddle 's  wet  yet." 

The  old  woman  put  down  her  knife  and  fork.      "  That's 


204  THE  GRAY  SONS 

witch-work,"  she  said.      "First,  the  butter  would  n't  come, 
then  I  lost  that  piece  of  candle ;  un  it 's  teetotally  gone  too. 
Now  rats  don't  never  git  up  onto  that  shelf.     Then  I  see  a 
nicker  of  light  in  the  loft  while  I  was  putt  in'  away  the  but 
ter,  an'  you  >n'  Zeke  a-settin'  h-yer  by  the  fire.     Then  I  wuz 
waked  up  by  that  scritch-scratchin'  soun7  in  the  chimbley, 
fer  all  the  world  like  somebody  a-climbin'  down  into  the 
room,  though  they  wa'  n't  nobody  clum  down,  fer  I  listened. 
It  kep'  Zeke  awake  all  night  an  roused  'im  out  airly  this 
mornin'.      Th'  ain't  nothin'  short  of  witch- work  gits   Zeke 
up  an'  sets  him  to  choppin'  wood  'thout  callin'.      An'  it 's 
been  a-ridin'  ole  Gray.    Maybe  the  ghost  of  that  feller  that 
wuz  shot  over  't  the  camp-meetin'  's  a-ha'ntin'  roun'  the 
country,  like.     I  don'  b'lieve  it  '11  ever  be  quiet  tell  the  feller 
that  shot  'im  's  hung." 

The  old  man  was  very  taciturn,  and  Zeke  could  not  di 
vine  whether  he  was  impressed  by  his  wife's  mysterious  "  it," 
or  whether,  suspecting  the  truth  about  old  Gray,  he  thought 
best  to  say  nothing.  For  if  anything  should  set  Mrs.  Brit- 
ton  going  she  would  not  stop  scolding  for  days,  and  Britton 
knew  well  that  Zeke  would  not  be  the  chief  sufferer  in  such 
a  tempest. 

As  soon  as  he  had  eaten  his  breakfast  Zeke  went  out  to 
dig  early  potatoes  in  Britton's  farther  field.  About  9  o'clock 
a  clod  of  earth  came  flying  past  his  legs  and  broke  upon  his 
hoe.  He  turned  to  look,  and  saw  another  one  thrown  from 
the  corn-field  near  by  ascending  in  a  hyperbolic  curve  and 
then  coming  down  so  near  to  his  head  that  he  moved  out  of 


ZEKE  205 

the  way.  He  laid  down  his  hoe  and  climbed  the  fence  into 
the  corn-field,  which  at  this  time  of  the  year  was  a  dense 
forest  of  green  stalks  higher  than  a  man's  head.  Bob  McCord 
was  here  awaiting  Zeke.  He  had  left  Lazar  Brown's  horse 
tied  in  a  neighboring  papaw  patch. 

"  Did  you  go  to  Perrysburg  ? "  began  Bob. 

"  Yes/'  said  Zeke.  "  You  played  it  onto  'em  good.  I  wuz 
ruther  more  'n  half  fooled  myself.  I  'lowed  sometimes  ut 
maybe  S'manthy  had  come  it  over  you." 

Bob  laughed  all  through  his  large  frame. 

"  When  we  got  to  Perrysburg  un  come  to  wake  up  the 
shurruff  he  wuz  skeered,  un  ast  what 't  wuz  we  wuz  arter. 

" '  That  murderer,'  says  Jake  Hogan,  like  a  ghos'  fum 
behin'  his  false-face. 

"  *  What  murderer  ? '  says  the  shurruff.  '  They  hain't  no 
murderer  in  the  jail.' 

"  '  They  hain't,  sonny  ? '  says  Jake,  weth  seek  a  swing. 
'  You  ketch  us  with  yer  dodrotted  f oolin','  says  he ;  l  we  hain't 
the  kind  to  be  fooled.  We  know  what  we  're  about  afore 
we  begin,  we  do.  We  hain't  the  sort  to  be  tuck  in  by  lawyers 
nur  nobody  else,'  says  he. 

'* 1 1  tell  you  they  hain't  no  murderer  h-yer,'  says  the 
shurruif,  says  he. 

"  *  Tie  's  han's,  boys,'  says  Jake,  in  Jake's  way,  yeh  know, 
like  as  if  he  wuz  king  uv  all  creation." 

"  Weth  Eelenoys  throwed  in  like  a  spool  uv  thread,  to 
make  the  bargain  good,"  suggested  Bob,  losing  all  prudence 
and  giving  way  to  a  long,  unrestrained  peal  of  laughter. 
18 


206  THE   GRAYSONS 

"  Jes'  so,"  said  Zeke.  "  When  we  come  to  the  jail  un  got 
the  door  open  they  wuz  n't  nobody  thar  but  Sam  ByfieP,  the 
half-crazy  feller  that  wuz  through  h-yer  last  ye'r  a-playin' 
his  fool  tricks,  un  a  man  name'  Simmons,  as  had  stole  half 
a  cord  uh  wood.  Simmons  was  that  skeered  when  we  come 
in,  't  'e  got  down  on  'is  knees  un  begged,  un  whined,  un 
sniffled,  un  says,  '  Boys/  says  he,  '  I  hain't  noways  purpared 
to  die.  Don't  hang  me,  un  I  won't  never  steal  nothiii' 
ag'in/  says  he." 

u  I  '11  bet  ByfieP  wuz  n't  skeered,"  said  Bob. 

"  Not  him.  He  'd  been  a-playin'  the  angel  Gaberl  about 
Perrysburg  weth  a  long  tin  horn,  blowin'  it  into  people's 
winders  at  midnight,  just  to  skeer  'em  un  hear  'em  howl,  un 
the  watchman  had  jugged  him.  Jake  says,  says  he,  'Sam 
ByfieP,  tell  us  whar  that  air  murderer  is.'  Jake  put  'is  voice 
away  down  in  'is  boots, —  it  sounded  like  a  mad  bull  a-bel- 
lerin'.  But  Sam  jest  lif's  Jake's  false-face,  this  away,  un 
peeps  under,  un  says,  'Jake  Hogan,'  says  'e,  <I  knowed  it 
mus'  be  you  by  yer  big-f eelin'  ways.  It 's  mighty  hard  f er 
a  man  that 's  a  nateral  born  to  make  a  fool  uv  hisself ;  but, 
Jake,  I  '11  be  derned  ef  you  hain't  gone  un  done  it  this 
time.' 

" '  Hain't  Tom  Grayson  h-yer  ? '  says  Jake. 

"  '  No,'  says  ByfieP.  '  Somebody 's  been  a-greenin'  on  you, 
Jake ;  Tom  hain't  never  been  h-yer,?  says  he. 

"  l  Aw,  you  're  a  lunatic,  Sam,'  says  Jake. 

"'Ditto,  brother,'  says  ByfieP. 

"  The  shurruff's  folks  had  run  out,  un  'bout  this  time  they 


ZEKE  207 

'd  began  to  raise  the  neighbors,  un  somebody  run  to  the 
Prisbaterian  church  un  commenced  to  pull  away  on  the  new 
church  bell,  't  a  man  Down  East  sent  'em.  We  thought  we  'd 
better  be  a-lightin'  out  mighty  soon.  But  time  we  wuz  in 
our  saddles  crack  went  a  gun  fum  behin'  the  court-house. 
I  s'pose  't  wuz  shot  into  the  air  to  skeer  us ;  but  Jake,  like 
a  fool,  out  weth  his  pistol  un  shot  back.  The  Perrysburg 
people  wuz  like  a  bee-gum  that  's  been  upsot.  The  people 
was  now  a-runnin',  some  one  way  un  some  t'  other,  un  more 
guns  wuz  fired  off  fum  summers, —  we  never  stopped  to 
eenquire  fum  whar,  tell  we  'd  got  safe  acrost  the  county 
line.  One  uv  them  guns  must  'a'  been  a  rifle,  un  it  must 
'a'  been  shot  in  bloody  yarnest,  fer  I  heerd  the  bullet 
whiz." 

"  You  never  stopped  to  say  good-bye ! "  said  Bob. 

"  Not  me !  Ole  Gray  wuz  the  very  fust  hoss  that  pulled 
hisself  acrost  the  corporation  line.  I  did  n'  seem  to  feel  no 
interest  in  staying  noways." 

"  What 's  Jake  goin'  to  do  nex'  thing  ? "  asked  Bob,  not 
yet  recovered  from  his  merriment. 

"  Wai,  about  half  the  fellers  rode  straight  on  home  un 
would  n't  talk  to  Jake  at  all,  'cept  maybe  to  cuss  'im  now 
un  then  fer  a  fool,  on'y  fit  to  hole  a  snipe-bag  fer  Bob  Mc- 
Cord.  They  swore  they  wuz  done  goW  under  sech  as  Mm. 
But  Jake  ain't  the  kind  to  gin  it  up ;  he  says  'f  'e  kin  get  a 
dozen  he  's  boun'  to  go  a  Sunday  night  when  they  '11  be  lots 
of  fellers  about  the  camp-meetin',  un  some  uh  them  '11  go  too, 
maybe." 


208  THE   QRAY8ON8 

"  We  '11  have  to  see  about  that,"  said  Bob,  getting  up. 
"  But  you  stick  to  Jake,  closte  ez  a  cuckle-burr." 

"  All  right,"  said  Zeke,  remembering  his  potato  patch  and 
looking  ruefully  at  the  ascending  sun  as  he  hurried  back  to 
his  work. 

Bob  went  on  his  way  and  returned  the  horse  to  Lazar 
Brown's  house  j  but  Uncle  Lazar  was  nowhere  to  be  seen, 
and  S'manthy  was  evidently  out  of  humor. 

"  S'mauthy,  yer  's  yer  boss,"  said  Bob. 

"Wai,  you  thes  let  'im  loose  tharj  I  hain't  got  no  time 
to  bauther." 

"How  'd  the  boys  come  out  las'  night  down  't  Moscow  V 

"Aw,  I  don'  know,  un  I  don'  keer,  neither.  You  're  a 
low-lived  passel  uh  loafers,  all  uh  yeh,  big  an'  leetle." 

"W'y,  S'manthy!  You  wuz  that  sweet  las'  night." 

S'manthy  was  in  a  hurry  about  something,  but  she  showed 
her  irregular  teeth  as  she  disappeared  around  a  corner  of 
the  cabin,  looking  back  over  her  shoulder  to  say : 

"You  ?e  a  purty  one,  hainch  yeh,  now?" 

Bob's  face  shone  with  delight  as  he  went  on  up  the  run  to 
look  for  the  bear's  cubs.  He  succeeded  in  killing  one  of 
them  and  capturing  the  other  alive,  but  he  had  to  take 
them  and  his  wounded  dog  home  afoot.  It  seemed  too 
great  a  venture  to  ask  S'manthy  to  lend  the  horse  a  second 
time, 


XIX 

THE   MYTH 

AKE'S  leadership  had  received  a  severe  blow, 
and  Bob  could  hardly  believe  that  he  would 
be  able  to  muster  a  company  again.  But 
Hogan's  vindictiveness  and  persistence  ren 
dered  it  probable  that  he  would  not  rest  in  his  present 
ridiculous  position  without  making  an  effort  to  redeem 
himself,  even  if  he  had  to  act  with  a  small  party. 

"  You  see,"  Bob  explained  to  Mason  that  Saturday  night, 
"  Jake 's  got  the  most  p'ison  kind  uv  hold-on  you  ever  seed. 
He 's  shore  to  try  't  over,  fust  or  last." 

"  He  won't  let  you  fool  him  again,7'  said  Mason. 
Bob  smiled  and  picked  up  a  chip,  which  he  began  to 
whittle  as  an  aid  to  reflection. 

"  It  would  be  a  juberous  thing  to  try  again.  But  I  'm 
goin'  to  see  Pete  Markham  in  the  mornin'.  He  '11  go  apast 
h-yer  to  the  camp-meetin',  fer  he  's  a  Methodis'  by  mar 
riage, — that  is,  his  wife  's  a  member,  un  that  makes  Pete 
feel  7z  if  he  wuz  a  kind-uv  a  member-in-law.  Un  Pete  knows 
mighty  well 't  when  the  time  comes  roun7  fer  him  to  run  fer 
18*  200 


210  THE   GRAY  SONS 

office,  it  '11  be  worth  while  to  know  pussidin'  elders,  un  cir 
cus-riders,  un  locus'  preachers,  un  exhausters,  un  all  sorts  uv 
camp-meetin'  people.  Pete  ?s  jes'  as  shore  to  go  to  camp- 
meetin'  a  Sunday  mornin'  'z  a  bear  is  to  eat  honey  when  he 
comes  acrost  a  tumbledown  bee-tree." 

The  next  morning  Bob  stood  in  his  shirt-sleeves  leaning 
over  Mrs.  Gray  son's  gate  and  watching  the  people  that  rode 
to  the  great  Sunday  assembly  at  the  Union  camp-ground. 
Many  a  staid  plow-horse,  with  collar-marks  on  his  shoulders, 
had  been  diligently  curried  and  brushed  to  transform  him 
into  a  stylish  saddle-nag;  and  many  a  young  man,  with 
hands  calloused  by  ax-helve  and  plow-handle,  rode  to-day 
in  his  Sunday  best  with  a  blooming  girl  by  his  side,  or 
behind  him,  and  with  the  gay  heart  of  a  troubadour  in  his 
breast.  Fresh  calico  dresses,  in  which  the  dominant  tint 
was  either  a  bright  pink  or  a  positive  blue,  were  flaunted 
with  more  pride  than  a  princess  feels  in  her  lace  and  pearls. 
The  woman  who  has  worked  and  schemed  and  skimped  to 
achieve  her  attire  knows  the  real  pleasure  and  victory  of 
self-adornment. 

The  early  comers  of  this  Sunday-morning  procession  are, 
in  the  main,  Methodists  going  to  eat  bread  and  water  with 
the  brethren  in  the  9  o'clock  love-feast  assembly,  to  sing 
together  the  touching  songs  of  fellowship,  and  to  tell,  and 
to  hear  told,  the  stories  of  personal  trials  and  sorrows, — to 
taste  the  pleasure  of  being  one  of  a  great  company  wrought 
to  ecstasy  by  a  common  religious  passion.  But  as  the 
summer  sun  mounts  higher,  the  road  is  more  and  more 


THE  MYTH  211 

thronged  with  a  miscellaneous  company.  For  at  11  o'clock 
the  presiding  elder,  a  great  man  of  all  the  country  round, 
will  preach  one  of  his  favorite  sermons,  and  all  the  world — 
believers  and  scoffers,  doctors  and  lawyers,  and  judges  and 
politicians — will  be  there  to  hear  him  marshal  in  new  forms 
the  oft-repeated  arguments  in  favor  of  the  divine  origin  of 
Christianity,  or  the  truth  of  the  Arminian  system  of  Wesley, 
and  to  admire  the  dramatic  effect  of  his  well-told  anec 
dotes  and  the  masterly  pathos  of  his  peroration.  The  peo 
ple  no  longer  go  in  couples ;  there  are  six  and  even  ten  in  a 
group.  And  how  well  they  sit  their  saddles !  There  is  no 
"  rising  to  the  trot,"  in  the  ungraceful  fashion  of  New  York 
and  Boston  gentlemen  and  ladies  who  have  put  away  the 
tradition  of  ancestors  of  unrivaled  horsemanship,  to  adopt 
from  England  an  ugly  custom  excusable  only  in  a  land  of 
fox-hunting.  You  might  find  girls  in  their  teens  in  this 
company  who  ride  with  grace  and  dash  over  difficult  roads, 
and  who  could  learn  nothing  worth  their  while  from  a  rid 
ing-master, — for  to  ride  perfectly  consists  chiefly  in  riding 
as  naturally  and  unconsciously  as  one  walks,  and  that  is 
rarely  given  to  any  but  those  that  are  to  the  saddle  born. 
But  besides  saddle-horses  there  are  wagons,  for  wherever 
there  is  a  prairie,  wheels  come  early.  One  or  two  families 
not  yet  out  of  a  pioneer  state  of  existence  go  creaking  pain 
fully  along  in  ox-carts ;  and  there  are  barefoot  boys  skur- 
rying  afoot  across  fields  to  save  distance.  Everybody  feels 
bound  to  go.  The  attraction  of  a  crowd  is  proportioned  to 
its  greatness,  like  all  other  gravitation,  and  this  one  will 


212  THE   GRAY  SONS 

drain  the  country  dry  of  people.  Scarcely  any  one  stays  at 
home,  as  you  see;  There  are  little  children  in  the  wagons  and 
on  the  croups  of  the  saddle-horses,  while  some  supernumer 
ary  ones  are  held  in  place  on  the  withers  j  it  is  in  this  way 
that  the  babies  get  their  first  lessons  in  horsemanship.  At 
half-past  10  o'clock  the  roads  are  beclouded  with  dust  that 
drifts  to  leeward,  turning  the  green  blades  of  the  corn-field 
to  gray  and  grizzling  the  foliage  of  the  trees.  All  along 
the  road  there  is  the  sound  of  voices  in  many  keys — but 
all  with  a  touch  of  holiday  buoyancy  in  them.  There  is  that 
universal  interchange  of  good  feeling  which  is  only  found 
in  communities  that  have  no  lines  of  socicil  cleavage. 
Everybody  is  talking  to  everybody, — about  the  weather, 
the  crops,  the  latest  weddings,  the  most  recent  deaths,  and, 
above  all,  the  murder  at  the  camp-meeting.  To  this  topic 
every  party  drifts  when  the  Gray  son  farm-house  comes  in 
sight,  if  not  before.  Wild  stories  are  repeated  of  Tom's 
profligacy,  and  of  the  causes  that  led  to  the  feud  between 
him  and  Lockwood.  As  the  people  come  nearer  to  the  house 
their  voices  fall  into  a  lower  tone,  and  they  ride  by  the 
front  gate  in  almost  entire  silence,  scanning  the  house  with 
eager  curiosity,  as  though  trying  to  penetrate  the  chagrin  of 
those  within.  They  all  nod  to  Bob  j  it  is  the  common  and 
indispensable  civility  of  the  country.  Bob  nods  to  all  in 
turn  and  grunts  in  a  friendly  way  at  those  with  whom  he  is 
acquainted;  but  to  his  best  friends  he  gives  a  cheerful 
"Howdy!" 

At  length  the  deputy  sheriff,  Markham,  appears,  riding 


THE  MYTH  213 

alongside  of  his  wife.  She  is  also  escorted  on  the  other  side 
by  Magill,  the  county  clerk,  who  is  saying  the  pleasantest 
things  he  can  think  of  to  her.  When  Markham  arrives  at  a 
point  nearly  opposite  the  gate,  Bob  does  not  nod,  but  gives 
his  head  a  significant  jerk  backward  and  to  the  left, —  a 
laconic  invitation  to  stop  a  moment,  rendered  the  more 
explicit  by  the  utterance  in  a  low  tone  of  a  single  word, 
"  Pete ! "  Markham  draws  rein  and  stops  to  hear  what 
Bob  has  to  say;  and  Mason,  who  has  come  out  on  the  porch 
at  that  moment,  descends  to  the  gate  to  talk  with  Magill 
and  Mrs.  Markham,  who  have  also  pulled  up.  The  whole 
five  are  presently  engaged  in  conversation  in  one  group, 
while  the  horses  amuse  themselves  by  thrusting  their  dusty 
noses  through  the  cracks  of  the  fence  to  nibble  at  such 
blades  of  grass  as  are  within  their  reach.  The  sight  of  the 
deputy  sheriff  and  the  county  clerk  in  front  of  the  Gray  son 
house  piques  yet  more  the  curiosity  of  the  passers-by,  who 
wonder  what  those  privileged  folks  can  be  talking  about. 

"  You  cannot  do  that,"  Markham  said  presently,  in  reply 
to  a  suggestion  that  came  from  Mason.  "  It  9s  no  use  talking 
to  the  sheriff  about  moving  Tom  to  Perrysburg.  He  's 
made  up  his  mind  not  to  move  him ;  and  if  he  did  move 
him,  Perrysburg  would  n't  be  a  safe  place." 

"  The  shairiff  seems  to  have  one  eye  on  Broad  Run,  ainh 
Pate?"  said  Magill  chaffingly. 

But  Pete  Markham  neither  smiled  nor  said  anything  in 
reply. 

"It's  a  shame  something  can't  be  done  for  Tom,"  said 


214  THE  GRAY  SONS 

Mason.  "  He  's  got  a  right  to  a  fair  trial j  and  we  think  he  's 
innocent." 

"  I  '11  do  anything  I  can/'  said  Markham,  whose  memory 
had  been  haunted  by  the  appealing  face  of  Mrs.  Grayson 
ever  since  his  domiciliary  visit  in  search  of  Tom's  pistol. 

"  I  'm  not  caring  much  whether  he 's  innocent  or  not,  me- 
self,"  said  Magill.  "  May  be  Lockwood  aggravated  'im  an' 
naded  puttin'  out  of  the  way.  All  I  say  is,  Tom  faced  that 
crowd  the  other  day  like  a  man,  an'  he  's  a  born  gintleman 
in  me  own  istimation;  an'  I  'd  niver  let  a  gintleman  be  hung 
by  a  gang  of  blackguards,  if  I  could  help  it." 

"  Broad  Run  don't  vote  for  you,  Magill,"  said  Markham. 

"  You  would  n't  ixpict  it  to  vote  for  a  man  with  a  clane 
shirt  on,  now  would  ye?" 

"  Well,"  said  Bob,  "  I  've  been  a-thinkin'  that  ef  Pete 
could  make  people  b'lieve  that  they  wuz  another  man  wanted 
fer  the  shootin',  it  would  sort  uh  muddle  Jake's  plans  fer 
a  while,  un  by  that  time  liker  'n  not  Abe  Lincoln  '11  find  out 
who  the  rale  murderer  is." 

"  Tell  me  what 's  the  color  of  his  hair,  Pate  ?  "  said  Magill. 
"  Then  I  '11  help  you  foind  him." 

"  Well,"  drawled  Markham,  turning  a  little  side  wise  in 
the  saddle  to  rest  himself,  and  looking  perfectly  serious  and 
secretive,  "  I  have  n't  found  out  about  his  hair, —  he  wore 
a  straw  hat,  you  know.  But  he  was  a  youngish  fellow,  with 
foxy  whiskers  under  his  chin." 

"  Middlin'  small  ? "  suggested  Magill,  with  a  faint  pucker 
of  drollery  about  the  corner  of  his  mouth. 


THE  MYTH  215 

"  Yes,"  said  Markham,  biting  the  butt  of  his  beech  switch 
meditatively.  "  Ruther  under  the  average,  I  should  say, 
without  being  small." 

"One  eye  a  leetle  crossed!"  Bob  McCord  inquired, 
laughing. 

"  Right  eye  a  little  out?  said  Markham,  waving  his  hand 
outwardly.  "  He  had  quarreled  with  Lockwood  a  good  while 
ago  and  owed  him  a  grudge.  That 's  the  man.'7 

"  Know  his  name  ? "  put  in  Magill. 

"  N-o.  That 's  one  thing  we  're  trying  to  find  out.  He 
come  from  off  East  where  Lockwood  used  to  live.  We  've 
got  to  try  to  find  if  anybody  knows  which  way  he  went  when 
he  left  the  camp-meetin'  that  night,  and  if  anybody  can  tell 
just  where  he  come  from." 

"  Oh !  I  understand  now  what  you  're  after/7  said  Magill. 
"  There  '11  be  a  plinty  will  remimber  the  man  when  you  come 
to  spake  about  him.  Don't  you  say  what  you  want  him  fer. 
L'ave  all  explinations  to  me.  I  'in  not  responsible,  an'  I  '11 
let  out  the  saycrits  of  the  shairiff's  office." 

The  passers-by  had  grown  visibly  fewer  in  the  last  few 
minutes,  and  now  the  belated  ones  rode  for  the  most  part  in 
a  rapid  trot  or  a  gallop.  Mrs.  Markham  began  to  warn  her 
husband  that  there  would  not  be  a  seat  left ;  so  the  horses' 
heads  were  drawn  up,  and  the  trio  set  forward  with  a  nod 
of  good-bye  to  Bob  and  the  schoolmaster. 

Markham  went  to  work  in  all  seriousness  to  get  informa 
tion  about  the  imaginary  young  man  with  red  whiskers 
under  his  chin  and  an  outward  cast  in  one  eye  who  had  been 


216  THE  GBATSONS 

seen  on  the  ground  the  night  of  the  murder.  Magill  took 
occasion  to  remark  that  if  the  praycher  'd  only  'a'  known 
what  Markham  was  looking  for,  and  all  about  the  rale  facts 
of  the  murder,  he  might  n't  have  held  Tom  up  for  an  awful 
warnin'  to  the  young  that  mornin'.  But  he  supposed  it  did 
not  matter  whether  you  had  the  roight  fellow  or  the  wrong 
one,  if  you  were  only  pray  chin'.  Some  of  those  who  heard 
the  clerk  describe  the  smallish  man  with  the  red  goatee  and 
one  eye  out  a  little,  thought  they  could  remember  having 
seen  a  man  answering  to  this  description ;  but  as  they  could 
not  give  any  information  tending  to  secure  his  arrest,  Magill 
did  not  think  it  worth  while  communicating  their  knowledge 
to  Markham.  But  he  quoted  their  sayings  and  surmises  to 
the  next  persons  he  spoke  to ;  so  that,  without  ever  straining 
his  conscience  to  the  point  of  positively  asserting  the  sub 
stantive  existence  of  such  a  red- whiskered  young  man  with 
a  squint,  he  had  almost  come  to  believe  in  him  by  the  time 
the  day  was  over. 

The  story  reached  Broad  Run  in  two  or  three  forms  be 
fore  night,  and  served  to  throw  Jake's  forlorn  hope  into  con 
fusion.  But  Magill  did  not  think  best  to  leave  the  Broad 
Run  people  to  the  mercy  of  rumor  in  so  important  a  matter. 
He  rode  up  to  the  grocery  about  half -past  5  in  the  afternoon, 
and  having  hitched  his  horse  to  a  neighboring  dogwood,  he 
walked  in  with  a  good-evening  to  the  group  at  the  door. 
Going  up  to  the  counter  he  called  up  the  whole  party  to  drink 
with  him,  as  became  an  Irish  gentleman  of  generous  spirit, 
who  was,  moreover,  a  prudent  politician.  But  Broad  Run 


THE  MYTH  217 

had  never  taken  a  fancy  to  Magill  j  there  was  a  ceremoni- 
ousness  about  his  attempts  to  flatter  them  which  did  not 
harmonize  with  their  rough-and-ready  ways.  If  he  had  said, 
"  Come,  boys,  liquor  up  !  "  they  would  have  thought  his  man 
ner  perfect ;  but  he  bowed  blandly  to  Jake  Hogan,  and  said, 
"  Have  something  to  drink,  won't  you  ?  "  and  so  to  the  rest. 
They  mentally  condemned  him  as  "  too  all-fired  fine  in  his 
ways  and  too  much  dressed  up  for  a  free  country."  But 
they  did  not  neglect  the  opportunity  to  drink  at  somebody 
else's  expense.  Jake  Hogan  was  the  more  ready  to  accept 
such  hospitality  because  he  had  been  feeling  a  little  depressed 
since  his  unlucky  trip  to  Perrysburg.  And  now  this  story 
which  he  had  heard  of  another  man  who  might  be  the  mur 
derer  had  destroyed  what  chance  he  had  of  mustering  a 
party  for  Moscow;  for  Jake's  most  devoted  partisans  did 
not  like  to  run  any  risk  of  hanging  the  wrong  man. 

"  Mr.  Magill,"  said  Jake,  after  he  had  turned  his  whisky- 
glass  nearly  to  the  perpendicular  in  the  endeavor  to  extract 
the  last  drop,  "  what 's  this  yer  story  about  Tom's  not  being 
the  ginooine  murderer  ?  I  don't  take  no  stock  in  the  yarn, 
fer  my  part." 

"  Well,  it  ain't  best  to  say  anything  about  it  till  they  get 
the  other  man,"  said  Magill,  assuming  a  close  look.  "  I  hear 
they  're  purty  hot  on  his  track." 

"What  kind  of  a  lookin7  creetur  wuzzy?"  asked  Bijy 
Grimes,  an  oldish  man  with  an  effeminate  chin  and  soft,  fair 
cheeks  which  contrasted  strangely  with  his  slovenly  and  un 
kempt  appearance.  Bijy  had  drunk  his  liquor,  and  now  sat 
19 


218  THE  GRAY  SONS 

resting  on  a  keg  with  his  month  dropped  wide  open ;  it  was 
a  way  he  had  of  listening. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  anything  only  what  I  hear,"  said 
Magill.  u  I  'm  not  the  shairiff,  you  know.  The  story  goes 
that  he  was  a  man  with  a  red  goatee  —  " 

"  Un  what  f er  sized  man  ?  "  asked  Bijy. 

"  Rather  under-sized,  and  with  one  eye  a  little  walled," 
said  Magill. 

"  1 'm  darned  ef  't  ain't  the  wery  man  I  seed,"  said  Bijy, 
who  never  failed  to  know  something  about  everything. 
"  He  wuz  comin'  towurds  the  camp-meetin'  that  wery  arter- 
noon.  Dern ! "  and  he  shut  his  mouth,  and  got  to  his  feet 
in  excitement.  "  I  kind-uh  suspicioned  'im  too,"  he  added. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  anything,"  said  the  clerk;  "but  if 
they  catch  that  stranger  and  prove  it  on  him, —  mind,  I  say, 
if  they  prove  it, —  count  me  for  one  that  will  help  get  the 
world  rid  of  him  by  Broad  Run  law,  as  they  call  it.  But 
I  Ve  got  to  get  on  home,  gintlemen.  Good-bye,  gintlemen, 
and  good  luck  to  you  all ! "  So  saying,  Magill  bowed 
respectfully. 

The  rest  nodded  their  heads  and  said  good-bye. 

"  He  's  too  orful  slick,"  said  Jake,  when  Magill  had  gone. 
"  Makes  me  kind  uv  sick.  Now  I  like  a  man  ut  talks  out 
like  a  man,  you  know;  without  so  much  dod rotted  saf- 
sawder,  un  so  on.  He  ain't  none  uh  my  kind,  Magill  hain't." 


XX 

LINCOLN    AND    BOB 

AST  by  the  "City  Hotel »  in  Moscow  stood  a 
beech-tree,  as  we  have  said,  and  under  this 
tree  were  two  or  three  benches.  This  umbra 
geous  spot  was  the  cool  and  favorite  loafing- 
place  of  the  villagers,  the  trysting-place  for  making  bargains 
or  meeting  friends.  The  ground  was  beaten  by  many  feet 
to  the  hardness  of  a  floor,  and  the  village  boys  delighted 
to  play  marbles  in  this  convenient  spot.  Their  cries  of 
"  rounses,"  "  taw,"  "  dubs/'  "  back  licks,"  and  u vent"  might 
often  be  heard  there  before  and  after  school  hours.  On  one 
of  these  benches  under  the  beech-tree  Bob  McCord  had  an 
interview  with  Tom  Grayson's  lawyer,  according  to  appoint 
ment,  on  the  day  of  Lincoln's  return  from  court  at  Perrys- 
burg. 

"  What 's  this  about  lynching  Tom  ? "  Lincoln  inquired. 
"  A  lot  of  fellows  rode  into  Perrysburg  looking  for  him  last 
Thursday  night." 

"  Yes/'  said  Bob,  with  a  hearty  chuckle  :  "  I  put  'em  onto 
that  air  track  myself.  They  wuz  comin'  down  h-yer,  but  I 
made  'em  think  't  Tom  wuz  moved  to  Perrysburg." 

219 


220  THE  (1UAY80NS 

"  Are  they  going  to  try  it  again  ? "  asked  Lincoln. 

"Not  right  off;  they  're  sort-uh  discairaged  like.  A  few 
uv  ?em  wuz  cocked  un  primed  to  come  a  Sunday  night, — 
sech  uv  'em  as  had  n't  gin  it  up  arter  ridin'  over  to  Perrys- 
burg, —  but  we  fooled  'em  ag'in.  Pete  Markham,  the  dep- 
itty  sher'f,  jes'  sidled  over  to  camp-meetin'  un  let  on  't  he 
wuz  a-lookin'  fer  somebody  what  knowed  sumpin'  about  a 
young  feller  weth  red  whiskers  un  one  eye  a  leetle  crossed, 
like.  Magill,  the  clerk,  went  over  to  camp-meetin'  un  down 
onto  the  Run,  un  gin  it  out  on  the  sly  like  zif  he  could  n' 
keep  in,  that  they  'd  diskivered  the  tracks  uv  a  young  feller 
from  another  k-younty  weth  red  whiskers,  un  so  on,  that 
had  done  the  shootin'.  The  story  run  like  a  perrary  fire  in 
a  high  wind  un  sort-uh  mixed  'em  up  in  the'r  minds,  like. 
I  've  got  it  fixed  so  as  they  can't  come  down  unbeknownst 
to  me  j  un  ef  wust  comes  to  wust,  w'y,  I  Ve  got  my  eye  sot 
onto  a  crowbar." 

"A  crowbar?  What  would  you  do  with  a  crowbar, 
Bob?"  asked  Lincoln,  with  a  puzzled  contraction  of  the 
brows.  "  You  would  n't  try  to  whale  the  whole  crowd  with 
it,  would  you  ? " 

"  W'y,  Abe,  I  'low  ef  a  rale  tight  pinch  comes,  to  try  a 
tussle  weth  that  air  jail.  I  don't  know  's  I  could  prize  out 
one  uv  them  air  iron  grates,  but  ef  't  wuz  to  come  to  that,  1 
'd  try  to  git  Tom  out  uv  harm's  way.  You  say  the  word 
un  I  '11  find  some  way  to  let  'im  out  anyhow." 

"  No,  no ;  don't  do  that.  If  he  runs  away  he  '11  be  caught, 
and  then  he  '11  be  sure  to  be  lynched,  or  hanged.  Let  me 


LINCOLN  AND  BOB  221 

try  the  law  first,  and  then  it  *11  be  time  enough  to  use  crow 
bars  afterward  if  I  fail.  Do  you  know  Dave  Sovine  ?  " 

"  When  I  see  'im.  He  's  an  ornery  kind  uv  a  cuss.  I 
don't  know  's  he  rickollecks  me." 

"  So  much  the  better  if  he  does  n't.  You  must  get  him 
to  tell  you  all  about  the  shooting  —  his  story  of  it.  Get 
him  to  tell  more  than  was  brought  out  at  the  inquest.  Make 
him  explain  it,  and  find  out  if  he  's  going  to  clear  out  before 
the  trial." 

"  I  heern  tell 't  he  won't  talk/'  said  Bob.  "  The  prose- 
cutin'  attorney  's  shut  'im  up  tight  'z  bees- wax,  they  say." 

Lincoln  mused  awhile.  "  If  the  prosecuting  attorney  has 
shut  him  up,  you  must  open  him.  Contrive  some  way  to 
get  his  story  and  find  out  what  he  means  to  do." 

But  it  was  not  easy  to  encounter  Dave  in  these  days. 
Since  he  had  acquired  notoriety,  as  the  only  witness  of  the 
murder,  he  had  been  seized  with  an  unprecedented  diffi 
dence,  and  kept  himself  out  of  public  gaze.  The  boys 
about  the  village  conjectured  that  he  was  "laying  low  for 
big  game."  Bob,  however,  had  no  objection  to  waiting  for 
Sovine's  coming.  He  liked  this  lurking  for  prey  as  a  cat 
likes  the  watching  at  a  mouse-hole.  Besides,  loafing  of  any 
sort  suited  Big  Bob's  genius.  He  could  sit  astride  a  barrel 
on  the  shady  side  of  a  grocery  for  hours  with  no  sense  of 
exhaustion.  More  than  one  day  McCord  had  passed  in  this 
way,  when  at  last  Dave  Sovine  came  in  sight,  walking 
rather  hurriedly  and  circumspectly  toward  the  center  of  the 
village.  Bob  was  in  the  middle  of  a  hunting  yarn  which 
19* 


222  THE  GRAY  SONS 

he  was  lazily  telling  to  another  loafer  on  the  next  barrel  as 
he  whittled  a  bit  of  hickory  stripped  from  one  of  the  hoops 
in  front  of  him.  Without  betraying  any  excitement,  he 
astonished  his  companions  by  bringing  the  long-drawn 
story  to  an  abrupt  conclusion.  Then  dismounting  from 
his  barrel  he  sauntered  across  the  street  in  such  a  way 
as  to  encounter  Dave  and  to  fall  in  with  the  direction 
in  which  the  latter  was  going. 

"  Hot  day ! "  Bob  said,  as  he  intersected  Dave's  course  at 
an  acute  angle. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  other. 

"  How  ?s  the  corn  crap  out  your  way  ? " 

"  Dunno,"  said  Dave. 

"  Goin'  to  be  in  town  long  ? "  Bob  persisted. 

To  this  Dave  made  no  response.  He  only  turned  off 
abruptly  at  the  street-corner  and  left  Bob  behind. 

"  A  feller  might  as  well  try  to  git  sugar- water  by  tappin' 
a  dead  sycamore  as  to  git  anything  out  uv  him,"  Bob  said 
to  himself,  as  he  turned  and  took  the  road  toward  Hubbard 
Township. 

As  he  walks  homeward  over  the  level  prairie,  which  west- 
wardly  has  no  visible  limit,  Bob  can  only  think  of  one  way 
to  persuade  So  vine  to  talk,  and  that  way  is  out  of  the  reach 
of  a  man  so  impecunious  as  he.  It  is  in  vain  that  you  thrust 
your  great  fists  down  into  the  pockets  of  your  butternut 
trousers,  Bob.  You  know  before  you  grope  in  them  that 
there  is  no  money  there.  You  have  felt  of  them  frequently 
to-day  and  found  them  empty ;  that  is  why  you  are  going 


LINCOLN  AND  BOB  223 

home  thirsty.  Money  will  not  be  persuaded  to  remain  in 
those  pockets.  Nevertheless,  all  the  way  home  Bob  mechan 
ically  repeats  the  search  and  wonders  how  he  will  get  money 
to  carry  out  his  plan.  He  might  go  to  Lincoln,  but  he  has 
an  instinctive  feeling  that  Lincoln  is  what  he  calls  "  high- 
toned,"  and  that  the  lawyer  might  see  an  impropriety  in 
his  new  plan.  By  the  time  he  passes  into  his  own  cabin  he 
knows  that  there  is  no  other  way  but  to  get  the  money  from 
Mrs.  Grayson.  No  easy  task,  Bob  reflects.  Mrs.  Grayson 
has  never  shown  any  readiness  to  trust  Bob  McCord's 
business  skill. 

But  the  next  morning  he  takes  the  path  to  the  Grayson 
house,  walking  more  and  more  slowly  as  he  approaches  it, 
with  head  dropped  forward  and  fists  rammed  hard  into  his 
pockets,  while  he  whistles  doubtfully  and  intermittently. 
Now  and  then  he  pauses  and  looks  off  scrutinizingly.  These 
are  the  ordinary  physical  signs  of  mental  effort  in  this  man. 
In  seeking  a  solution  of  any  difficulty  he  follows  his  habits. 
He  searches  his  pockets,  he  looks  for  tracks  on  the  ground, 
he  scans  the  woods. 

He  approaches  the  back  of  the  Grayson  house  and  is 
relieved  to  see  Barbara  alone  in  the  kitchen,  spinning. 

"  You  see,  Barb'ry,"  he  said,  as  he  half  ducked  his  head 
in  entering  the  door, —  "you  see,  I  'm  in  a  fix." 

"  Won't  you  take  a  chair,  Mr.  McCord  ?  "  said  Barbara,  as 
she  wound  the  yarn  she  had  been  spinning  on  the  spindle 
and  then  stopped  the  wheel. 

"  No,  I  'm  'bleeged  to  yeh,  I  won't  sed  down,"  he  replied, 


224  THE  GRATSONS 

holding  himself  awkwardly  as  with  a  sense  that  indoors  was 
not  a  proper  or  congenial  place  for  him. 

"  Abe  Lincoln  sot  me  a  sum  un  I  can't  noways  git  the  an 
swer.  He  wanted  me  to  git  out  uh  that  air  Dave  Sovine  a 
full  account  uh  the  lie  he  's  a-goin'  to  tell  agin  Tommy.  But 
I  can't  git  at  it  noways.  The  f eller  won't  talk  to  me.  I  've 
thought  uv  ketchiii'  'im  by  himself  un  lickin'  'im  till  'e  'diet 
it  out,  but  1 'm  afeerd  Abe  'u'd  think  ut  that  'u'd  flush  his 
game  afore  he  wuz  ready  to  shoot.  They  ain't  on'y  jest  one 
other  way,  un  that 's  to  gamble  weth  Dave  un  coax  his  secret 
that  away.  But  you  see  I  'm  so  oncommonly  pore  this  year 
't  I  could  n't  gamble  at  a  cent  a  game  'thout  he  'd  trust  me, 
un  he  would  n't  do  that,  I  'low." 

After  cross-questioning  Bob  a  little,  Barbara  went  into 
the  sitting-room  to  her  mother  and  Bob  went  to  the  outer 
door  to  breathe  the  open  air  while  he  waited.  Barbara's 
mother  positively  refused  to  let  go  of  a  dollar  of  her  precious 
little  hoard  of  silver. 

"  D'  you  think,  Barb'ry,  't  I  'd  let  a  shif  less  kind  uv  a  man 
like  Big  Bob  have  my  money  to  gamble  it  away  to  that 
Sovine  ?  No,  I  won't,  and  that 's  all  there  is  about  it.  Dave 
got  a  lot  uv  my  money  a-gamblin'  with  Tommy,  an'  he  don't 
git  no  more  uv  it,  that 's  as  shore  as  my  name  's  Marthy 
Grayson.  They  don't  no  good  come  uv  gamblin'  noways, 
an'  I  can't  bear  that  Dave  Sovine  should  git  some  more  uv 
our  money,  an'  him  a-tryin'  to  swear  away  Tommy's  life." 

Barbara  stood  still  a  minute  to  give  her  mother's  indigna 
tion  time  to  spend  itself.  Then  she  said : 


LISCOLX  AXD  BOB  225 

"  Well,  poor  Tom  '11  have  to  die,  I  suppose,  if  you  can't  bring 
yourself  to  give  Bob  something  to  help  Abraham  save  him." 

Mrs.  Grayson  stood  for  several  seconds  in  self -conflict. 
Then  she  replied,  "  Well,  Barb'ry,  you  always  will  have  your 
way."  Saying  this  she  turned  irresolutely  toward  her  money- 
drawer.  u  I  s'pose  I  'd  jest  as  well  give  up  first  as  last.  How 
much  does  Bob  want?" 

"  Ten  dollars  '11  be  enough,  he  thinks." 

"  Ten  dollars !  Does  he  think  1 7rn  made  out  of  money  ? 
Now,  looky  here,  Barb'ry ;  I  'm  not  a-goin'  to  give  him  no 
sech  amount.  Here  's  five,  an'  you  tell  him  I  won't  spare 
another  red  cent." 

Barbara  took  the  silver  pieces  and  went  out  to  Bob. 

Possessed  of  funds,  Bob  again  set  out  to  meet  Dave. 
This  time  he  could  not  wait  for  Dave  to  come  to  town,  but 
boldly  sallied  out  along  the  road  past  the  house  of  Sovine's 
father.  How  could  he  wait  f  His  pockets  and  his  fingers 
were  burned  by  the  possession  of  so  much  hard  cash.  He 
felt  obliged  to  take  it  out  and  count  it  once  or  twice,  and  to 
make  an  inspection  of  his  pockets,  which  had  a  treacherous 
way  of  coming  into  holes  under  the  strain  of  the  big,  mus 
cular  hands,  so  often  rammed  into  their  depths  for  purposes 
of  meditation. 

After  walking  past  the  Sovine  house  once  or  twice  with 
out  encountering  Dave,  he  sat  down  by  a  prairie  brook,  the 
gentle  current  of  which  slipped  noiselessly  along,  dragging 
its  margins  softly  against  the  grass,  whose  seed-laden  heads 
at  this  season  of  the  year  hung  over  into  the  water,  the  mat- 


226  THE  GRAYSOSS 

ted  blades  lying  prone  upon  the  unbroken  surface: — their 
tips  all  curved  in  one  way  mark  the  direction  of  the  gentle 
stream.  Bob  reclined  on  the  low  bank,  where  he  was  con 
cealed  from  the  road  by  a  little  yellow-twigged  water-willow, 
the  only  thing  within  a  mile  or  two  that  could  be  called  a  tree. 

After  awhile  Dave  Soviue,  sauntering,  ruminating  tobacco, 
and  looking  warily  about,  as  was  his  way,  came  slowly  along 
the  road.  When  he  caught  sight  of  Bob  he  started,  and 
paused  irresolutely  as  though  about  to  retreat.  But  seeing 
that  Bob  was  looking  at  him,  he  recovered  himself  and 
came  toward  the  reclining  figure.  Truth  to  tell,  Dave  was 
lonesome  in  retirement,  and  the  sight  of  Bob  had  awakened 
a  desire  to  talk. 

"  Have  you  seed  a  man  go  a-past  h-yer  weth  a  bag  of 
wheat  on  his  hoss  ?  "  queried  Bob.  "  I  'm  a-waitin'  h-yer  to 
buy  a  half -bushel  uv  seed  wheat  fer  fall  sowin'  fom  a  feller 
what 's  a-comin'  in  fom  t'  other  eend  uv  the  k-younty." 

The  story  was  impromptu,  and  Bob  had  no  time  to  fill  in 
details.  Dave  looked  at  him  suspiciously,  and  only  replied 
by  shaking  his  head.  By  way  of  confirming  his  theory  of 
the  reason  for  his  waiting,  Bob  idly  jingled  the  silver  coins 
in  his  pocket  as  he  talked  about  the  craps  and  the  relative 
advantage  of  living  in  the  timber,  where  you  can  raise 
winter  wheat,  or  out  on  the  perrary.  The  sound  of  tinkling 
silver  caught  Dave's  ear,  as  it  was  meant  to. 

"  Play  a  game  of  seven-up  ? "  said  Dave  languidly. 

"  You  're  too  good  a  hand  fer  me,"  answered  Bob  with 
affected  wariness. 

"  Oh !  we  '11  only  try  small  stakes.     Luck  's  ag'inst  me 


LINCOLN  AND  BOB  227 

here  lately  "  ;  and  he  pulled  out  a  well-worn  pack  of  cards 
without  waiting  for  Bob  to  reply. 

"  No  5  ef  I  play,  I  want  to  play  weth  my  k-yards,"  said 
Bob,  who  had  a  lurking  hope  of  winning,  notwithstanding 
Dave's  reputation. 

"  I  don't  mind  where  the  cards  come  from,"  said  Dave,  as 
he  took  Bob's  pack,  which  was  in  a  worse  state  than  his 
own.  Then,  with  habitual  secretiveness,  he  said,  "  Let  ?s 
go  into  the  corn-field." 

They  crossed  the  road  and  climbed  into  the  corn-field, 
seating  themselves  on  the  edge  of  the  unplowed  grassy 
balk  between  the  corn  and  the  fence.  Here  they  were  hid 
den  and  shaded  by  the  broad-leaved  horse  and  trumpet 
weeds  in  the  fence-row.  As  was  to  be  expected,  Bob  won 
rather  oftener  than  he  lost  at  first.  After  a  while  the  luck 
turned,  and  Bob  stopped  playing. 

"  You  'd  better  go  on,"  said  Dave. 

"Id'  know,"  answered  Bob  ;  "  I  'm  about  as  well  off  now 
as  I  wuz  in  the  beginnin'.  I  'low  I  'd  better  hold  up." 

"  Aw,  no  ;  let 's  go  on.     You  might  make  sumpin." 

"  Well,"  said  Bob,  running  the  ends  of  the  cards  through 
his  fingers,  "  ef  you  '11  tell  me  jest  how  that  air  shootin' 
tuck  place,  I  will." 

"  I  don't  keer  to  talk  about  that,"  said  Dave,  with  a  non 
chalant  air,  that  hardly  concealed  his  annoyance.  "  The 
prosecuting  attorney  thought  I  'd  better  not." 

"  I  wuz  n't  at  the  eenques',"  Bob  pleaded,  "  un  they  's  so 
many  stories  a-goin'  that  I  want  to  h-yer  it  Pom  you." 

"  Oh,  I  know  yoN,"  said  Dave.     "  You  think  I  have  n't 


228  THE   GUAT80NS 

got  my  eye-teeth  cut  yet.  You  have  been  a-layin'  for  me 
and  I  know  what  you  are  here  fer.  Do  you  think  I  don't 
see  through  your  winter  wheat  ?  I  know  you  're  on  Tom's 
side." 

"  Well,  in  course  I  am/'  said  Bob,  roused  to  audacity  by 
his  failure  to  deceive.  "  But  it  mout  be  jest  as  well  fer  you 
to  tell  me.  Un  maybe  a  leetle  better.  It  mout  be  the  very  ,1 
k-yard  fer  you  to  throw  at  this  p'int  in  the  game."  And 
Bob's  face  assumed  a  mysterious  and  suggestive  look  as  he 
laid  his  cards  on  the  grass  and  leaned  forward  regarding 
Dave. 

"  Well/'  said  Dave,  in  a  husky  half- whisper,  letting  his 
eyes  fall  from  Bob's,  "  I  '11  tell  you  what :  I  don't  really 
keer  to  have  Tom  hung,  un  I  've  been  feelin'  bad  un  wishin' 
I  could  git  out  ov  it.  Ef  I  had  anuff  money  to  go  to  New 
Orleans  like  a  gentleman,  I  'd  just  light  out  some  night, 
and  give  Tom  a  chance  for  his  life." 

"  Maybe  you  mout  git  the  money,"  said  McCord,  picking 
up  his  cards.  "  But  your  story  would  n'  hang  him  nohow, 
I  'low."  Here  Bob  laid  down  a  half-dollar  for  a  new  game, 
and  Dave  covered  it. 

"  Of  course,  if  I  stay  he 's  got  to  swing,"  said  Dave ;  and 
by  way  of  proving  this  to  Bob,  he  told  his  story  of  the  shoot 
ing  with  some  particularity,  while  he  proceeded  to  win 
one  half-dollar  after  another  almost  without  interruption. 
"  Now,"  he  said,  when  he  had  told  the  story  and  answered 
Bob's  questions,  "  you  can  see  that 's  purty  tolerable  bad.  I 
sh'd  think  they  'd  ruther  I  'd  clear  out.  An'  if  somebody  'd 


LINCOLN  AND  BOB  229 

give  you  a  hundred  dollars  an7  you'd  let  me  play  three  or 
four  games  of  poker  with  you  some  fine  day  I M  make  tracks, 
an'  the  prosecuting  attorney  'd  have  to  get  along  without 
me." 

By  this  time  all  of  the  five  dollars  that  Barbara  had  fur 
nished,  except  the  last  twenty-five-cent  piece,  had  passed 
from  Bob's  reluctant  hands  to  Dave  Sovine's  greedy  pockets. 
This  one  quarter  of  a  dollar  Bob  had  prudently  placed  in 
the  great  pocket  of  his  hunting-shirt,  that  he  might  have 
something  to  fill  his  stone  jug  with.  For  though  he  was 
devoted  to  the  Graysons'  side  of  the  controversy,  Bob  McCord 
could  hardly  be  called  a  disinterested  philanthropist  j  and 
he  held  that  even  in  serving  one's  friends  one  must  not 
forget  to  provide  the  necessaries  of  life. 

"  You  're  awful  good  on  a  game,"  said  Bob,  with  a  rueful 
face.  "  You  Ve  cleaned  me  out,  by  hokey ;  I  '11  see  ef  I  can't 
git  you  that  hundred  dollars,  so  's  you  kin  win  it.  But  it  '11 
take  time  fer  the  Widder  Grayson  to  raise  it,  I  'low." 

"  Oh !  they  ain't  no  parWlar  hurry,"  said  Dave,  cheerfully 
counting  over  his  winnings  and  stowing  the  silver  about  in 
his  pockets  as  a  ship-master  might  distribute  his  ballast. 
"  Only  if  I  don't  get  the  money  I  '11  have  to  stay  h-yer  an' 
go  to  court,  I  guess."  And  Dave  hitched  up  his  trousers 
and  walked  off  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  a  master-stroke 
of  business  in  view. 

Lincoln  came  to  town  the  next  week  and  Bob  told  him 
the  story,  while  Lincoln  made  careful  notes  of  Dave's  account 
of  the  shooting. 
20 


230  THE  GRAY  SONS 

"  He  says  ef  Widder  Grayson  '11  let  me  have  a  hunderd 
dollars,  mi  I  '11  let  him  play  draw  poker  fer  it,  he  '11  light 
out  fer  parts  onknown." 

"  Oh !  he  wants  pay,  does  he  ? "  And  the  young  lawyer 
sat  and  thought  awhile.  Then  he  turned  full  on  Bob  and 
said: 

"  Could  I  depend  on  you  to  be  in  court  at  the  trial  without 
fail,  and  without  my  sending  a  subpoena?" 

"  Oh,  I  '11  be  there  un  nowheres  else,'7  said  Bob.  "  You 
need  n't  soopeeny  me.  I  >11  come  'thout  callin',  f  oiler  'thout 
tollin',  un  sfcan'  'thout  hitchin'." 

"Now  if  Dave  Sovine  comes  after  you  for  that  hundred 
dollars,  you  'd  better  put  him  off,  as  easy  as  you  can.  If  we 
should  buy  him  off  we  would  n't  want  to  give  the  prosecution 
time  to  fetch  him  back." 

Bob  thought  he  saw  a  twinkle  in  Lincoln's  eye  as  he  said 
this  ;  a  something  in  his  expression  that  indicated  more  than 
he  said.  But  though  he  looked  at  the  lawyer  curiously,  he 
got  no  further  light.  That  evening,  as  Bob  passed  the  Gray- 
son  farm-house,  he  told  the  anxious  Barbara  something 
about  it,  and  added :  "  Abe  Lincoln 's  powerful  deep.  He 's 
got  sumpin  ur  nuther  in  'is  head  't  I  can't  noways  see  into. 
I  don't  half  believe  't  'e  means  to  buy  up  that  low-lived 
scoundrel  arter  all.  He  acts  like  a  man  that 's  got  a  dead 
fall  all  sot,  un  is  a-tryin'  to  honey-fugle  the  varmint  to  git 
'im  to  come  underneath.'7 

And  Barbara  took  what  comfort  she  could  out  of  this 
assurance. 


XXI 

HIRAM  AND   BARBARA 

0  Barbara,  indeed,  the  unrelieved  apprehension 

T^  and  suspense  of  those  long,  hot  August  days 
J  were  almost  intolerable.  The  frequent  excur 
sions  to  the  Moscow  jail,  to  carry  some  tidbits 
of  home  cookery,  or  some  article  for  Tom's  personal  com 
fort,  afforded  a  practical  outlet  to  feeling  and  a  relief  from 
the  monotony  of  passive  suffering,  but  these  journeys  also 
brought  sharp  trials  of  their  own  to  Barbara's  courage  and 
self-control.  She  might  not  betray  to  Tom  or  to  her  mother 
how  much  she  suffered ;  it  was  for  her  to  support  both  the 
one  and  the  other. 

Doubtless  it  would  have  been  a  relief  could  she  have  told 
Hiram  Mason  all  the  dreadful  apprehensions  that  haunted 
her  during  the  long,  sleepless  nights.  But  from  the  hour 
of  Mason's  entering  the  house  he  had  avoided  confidential 
relations  with  Barbara.  Before  and  after  school  Hiram 
attended  to  all  those  small  cares  that  about  a  farm-house 
usually  fall  to  the  lot  of  a  man.  Gentle  and  considerate  to 
Mrs.  Grayson  and  Barbara,  he  preserved  toward  the  latter 

231 


THE  GRAYSONS 

a  careful  reserve.  He  could  not  resume  the  subject  discussed 
the  evening  they  had  peeled  apples  by  the  loom ;  it  seemed 
out  of  the  question  that  he  should  talk  to  Barbara  of  such 
things  while  her  mind  was  engrossed  with  the  curse  of  Cain 
impending  upon  her  brother.  He  might  have  sought  to  re 
new  the  matter  under  cover  of  giving  her  a  closer  sympathy 
and  a  more  cordial  support  in  her  sorrows,  but  he  saw  in 
her  demureness  only  the  same  sensitive  pride  that  had  shrunk 
from  his  advances  j  and  he  knew  that  this  pride  had  been 
wounded  to  the  quick  by  the  family  disgrace.  Moreover,  to 
urge  his  claims  as  a  lover  at  such  a  time  would  cover  all  his 
services  to  the  family  with  a  verdigris  of  self-interest ;  and 
he  thought  that  such  advances  would  add  to  Barbara's  dis 
tress.  In  making  them  he  would  be  taking  an  unfair  ad 
vantage  of  the  obligations  she  might  feel  herself  under  to 
him,  and  the  more  he  thought  of  it  the  more  he  abhorred  to 
put  himself  in  such  an  attitude.  So  he  daily  strengthened 
his  resolution  to  be  nothing  but  Mrs.  Grayson's  next  friend 
while  he  remained  under  her  roof,  and  to  postpone  all  the 
rest  until  this  ordeal  should  be  past. 

In  many  ways  he  was  able  to  be  helpful  to  the  two 
troubled  women.  He  stood  between  them  and  the  prying 
curiosity  of  strangers,  answering  all  questions  about  the 
family,  about  Tom,  and  about  the  case.  He  was  their 
messenger  on  many  occasions,  and  he  went  with  them 
every  Saturday  or  Sunday  to  Moscow.  But  at  other  times 
Barbara  saw  little  of  him  except  at  the  table,  and  he 
avoided  all  conspicuous  attentions  to  her.  Even  Mely 


HIRAM  AND  BARBARA  233 

McCord,  though  often  at  the  house,  could  find  no  subject 
for  chaff  in  the  relations  of  the  two.  When  the  matter  was 
under  discussion  among  the  young  gossips  at  the  Timber 
Creek  school-house,  Mely  declared  she  "did  n'  'low  they 
wuz  anything  in  the  talk  about  the  master  un  Barbary, — 
he  did  n'  pay  Barbary  no  Mention  't  all,  now  7t  ?e  7d  got 
every  chance."  If  Mason  had  been  a  person  of  less  habitual 
self -repression  he  would  not  have  been  able  to  house  his 
feelings  so  securely;  but  this  man  came  of  an  austere 
stock;  self-control  was  with  him  not  merely  habitual,  it 
was  hereditary. 

Hiram  had  besides  a  battle  of  his  own  to  fight.  The 
Monday  morning  after  the  killing  of  Lock  wood,  as  he  went 
to  the  school-house,  he  was  met  in  the  road  by  Lysander 
Butts,  next  neighbor  to  the  Graysons  —  a  square-built  man 
with  a  cannon-ball  head.  Butts  was  from  the  hill  country 
of  New  Jersey,  a  man  of  narrow  prejudices  and  great 
obstinacy. 

"  Looky  here,  Mr.  Mason,"  he  said,  "  d7  you  think  now 
that  a  schoolmaster  ought  to  take  up  for  a  rascal  like  Tom 
Grayson,  that  's  a  gambler,  and  I  don't  know  what,  and 
that 's  killed  another  fellow,  like  a  sneak,  in  the  dark  ? " 

"  I  have  n't  taken  up  for  Tom  any  more  than  to  want 
him  to  have  fair  play,"  said  Mason.  "  But  I  thought  that 
the  poor  old  lady  needed  somebody  to  be  her  friend,  and  so 
I  went  there,  and  am  going  to  do  what  I  can  for  her." 

"  Well,  I  know  the  Graysons  mighty  well,  first  and  last, 
this  many  a  ye'r,  and  they  're  all  cut  off  of  the  same  piece  ; 
20* 


234  THE  GRAY  SONS 

and  none  of  them  is  to  be  overly  trusted,  now  you  mind 
that." 

"  You  have  a  right  to  your  opinion,"  said  Hiram  j  "  but 
I  am  Mrs.  Grayson's  friend,  and  that  is  my  lookout." 

"  Mrs.  Grayson's  friend  ?  "  said  Butts,  with  a  sneer.  "  Mrs. 
Grayson,  ainh  ?  As  if  you  could  make  me  believe  it  was 
the  mother  you  're  defending.  It 's  Barbary  you  're  after." 

Mason  colored  as  though  accused  of  a  crime.  Then, 
recovering  himself,  he  said :  "  It  's  very  impudent  of  you  to 
be  meddling,  Mr.  Butts.  So  long  as  I  behave  myself,  it 's 
none  of  your  business."  And  he  went  on  toward  the  school. 

"  None  of  my  business,  ainh  ?  You  '11  find  out  whose 
business  it  is  mighty  shortly,"  Butts  called  after  Hiram. 

The  quarrel  between  the  Buttses  and  the  Graysons  dated 
back  to  their  first  settlement  in  Illinois.  Butts  had  regu 
larly  cut  wild  hay  on  the  low-lying  meadow  between  the 
two  farms.  Fond  of  getting  something  for  nothing,  he 
gave  out  among  his  neighbors  that  this  forty  acres  was  his 
own,  but  he  put  off  entering  it  at  the  Land  Office.  When 
Tom  Grayson's  father  entered  his  farm  he  found  this  piece 
blank  and  paid  for  it.  From  that  time  Butts  had  been  his 
enemy,  for  there  was  no  adjunct  to  a  farm  in  the  timber  so 
highly  prized  as  a  bit  of  meadow.  When  once  near  neigh 
bors  in  the  country  have  quarreled  their  proximity  is  usually 
a  guarantee  that  they  will  never  be  reconciled  j  —  there  are 
so  many  occasions  of  offense  between  people  who  must 
always  be  eating  off  the  same  plate.  It  was  universally 
known  that  "  the  Buttses  and  the  Graysons  could  n't  hitch." 


HIRAM  AND  BARBARA  235 

Where  two  of  their  fields  joined  without  an  intervening 
road  they  had  not  been  able  even  to  build  a  line  fence 
together;  but  each  man  laid  up  a  rail  fence  on  the  very 
edge  of  his  own  land,  and  the  salient  angles  of  the  two 
hostile  fences  stood  so  near  together  that  a  half-grown  pig 
could  not  have  passed  between.  This  is  what  is  called,  in  the 
phrase  of  the  country,  a  "  devil's  lane,"  because  it  is  a  monu 
ment  of  bad  neighborhood. 

When  Mason  reached  the  school-house  that  morning 
Angeline  Butts  had  her  books  and  those  of  her  younger 
brother  and  two  younger  sisters  gathered  in  a  heap,  and 
the  rest  of  the  scholars  were  standing  about  her,  while 
she  did  her  best  to  propagate  the  family  antagonism  to  the 
master.  The  jealousy  of  Lysander  Butts's  family  had  been 
much  inflamed  by  Barbara's  swift  success  in  study.  Ange 
line  had  never  been  able  to  get  beyond  the  simple  rules  of 
arithmetic;  her  feeble  bark  had  quite  gone  ashore  on  the 
sandy  reaches  of  long  division.  The  Buttses  were  therefore 
not  pleased  to  have  Barbara  arrive  at  the  great  goal  of  the 
Rule  of  Three,  and  even  become  the  marvel  of  the  neighbor 
hood  by  passing  into  the  mysterious  realm  of  algebraic  sym 
bols.  For  Angeline's  part  she  "could  n't  see  no  kind-uv  good, 
noways  you  could  fix  it,  in  cipherin'  with  such  saw-bucks." 
Figgers  was  good  enough  for  common  folks,  she  said,  and 
all  this  gimcrack  work  with  x's  and  y's  was  only  just  a  trick 
to  ketch  the  master.  For  her  part  she  would  n'  fool  away 
time  settin'  her  cap  for  sech  as  him,  not  if  he  was  the  only 
man  in  the  world. 


236  THE  GRATSOXS 

When  Tom  was  arrested  for  murder,  the  Buttses  felt  that 
their  day  had  come.  Folks  would  find  out  what  sort  of 
people  the  Graysons  were  now;  and  what  would  become 
of  all  Barbary's  fine  match  with  the  master?  Hey?  But 
when,  on  the  very  day  after  the  shooting,  Angeline  came 
home  bursting  with  indignation,  that  the  master  >d  gone 
and  took  up  his  board  and  lodging  at  the  Graysons',  and 
had  put  John  Buchanan  into  his  place  for  a  day  and  gone 
off  down  to  the  jail  with  the  Graysons,  their  exasperation 
knew  no  bounds.  Butts  rose  to  the  occasion,  and  resolved 
to  take  his  children  out  of  the  school.  No  man  that  coun 
tenanced  murder  could  teach  Butts's  children.  It  is  the 
inalienable  right  of  the  free-born  American  citizen  to 
relieve  his  indignation  by  taking  his  children  from  school, 
and  by  stopping  his  newspaper. 

When  Mason  entered  the  school-room  after  his  encounter 
with  the  father  he  was  not  surprised  to  find  the  whole  bat 
talion  of  Butts  infantry  drawn  up  in  martial  array,  while 
Angeline  held  forth  to  the  assembled  pupils  on  the  subject 
of  the  master's  guilt  in  countenancing  Tom  Grayson,  and 
the  general  meanness  of  the  whole  Grayson  "  click/7  living 
and  dead.  When  the  auditors  saw  Hiram  come  in  they  fell 
away  to  their  seats  j  but  Angeline,  pleased  to  show  her  defi 
ance  of  the  master,  who  could  no  longer  punish  her,  stood 
bolt  upright  with  her  bonnet  on  until  the  school  had  been 
called  to  order.  The  younger  Buttses  sat  down  from  habit 
ual  respect  for  authority,  and  the  brother  pulled  off  his 
hat  j  but  Angeline  jammed  it  on  his  head  again,  and  pulled 


HIRAM  AXD  BARBARA  237 

him  to  his  feet.  She  might  have  left  before  the  school 
began;  but  she  preferred  to  have  a  row,  if  possible.  So 
when  the  school  had  grown  quiet,  she  boldly  advanced  to 
the  space  in  front  of  the  master's  desk,  with  the  younger 
and  more  timid  Buttses  slinking  behind  her. 

"Mr.  Mason,  father  's  goiu'  to  take  me  out  of  school," 
she  said. 

"  So  he  told  me." 

"  He  wants  us  to  come  right  straight  home  this  morning." 

"  Well,  you  know  the  road,  don't  you  ? "  said  Hiram, 
smiling.  "  If  he 's  in  a  hurry  for  you,  I  should  have  thought 
you  might  have  been  there  by  this  time." 

This  reply  set  the  school  into  an  audible  smile.  Angeline 
grew  red  in  the  face,  but  the  master  was  standing  in  silence 
waiting  for  her  to  get  out,  and  the  scholars  were  laughing 
at  her.  There  was  nothing  more  to  be  said,  and  nothing 
for  it  but  to  be  gone  or  burst.  In  her  irritation  she  seized 
her  youngest  sister,  who  was  shamefacedly  sneaking  into 
Angeline's  skirts,  and  gave  her  a  sharp  jerk,  which  only 
added  a  fresh  impulse  to  the  titter  of  the  scholars,  and 
Angeline  and  her  followers  were  forced  to  scuffle  out  of 
the  door  in  confusion. 

Lysander  Butts  was  not  a  man  to  give  over  a  struggle. 
Conflict  was  his  recreation,  and  he  thought  he  could  "  spite 
the  master"  not  only  by  refusing  payment  for  the  tuition 
his  children  had  already  received,  but  by  getting  the  Tim 
ber  Creek  district  to  shut  Mason  out  of  their  school-house. 
There  were  those  in  the  district  who  resented  Mason's 


THE  GBATSONS 

friendship  for  the  Graysons,  but  they  were  not  ready  to 
go  so  far  as  Butts  proposed.  And  in  asking  Buchanan  to 
teach  school  for  him  a  single  day  Mason  had  unwittingly 
made  friends  against  the  time  of  trouble;  for  the  old  school 
master  now  took  the  young  man's  part,  and  brought  over 
to  his  side  the  three  Scotch  families  in  the  district,  who 
always  acted  in  unison,  as  a  sort  of  clan.  Butts  was  at  a 
serious  disadvantage  in  that  he  lived  beyond  the  limits  of 
the  Timber  Creek  district.  "  What  does  he  want  to  come 
a-maiddlin'  wi'  us  fer  V  Buchanan  demanded  of  the  Timber 
Creekers.  "  Let  'im  attaind  to  the  beesness  of  his  own 
deestrict,  and  not  go  to  runnin'  his  wee  crookit  daivils'  lanes 
douii  here."  Such  arguments,  with  the  help  of  Mason's 
good-nature,  his  popularity  with  the  pupils,  and  his  inflex 
ible  determination  to  keep  his  own  gait,  caused  the  opposi 
tion  to  weaken  and  die  out  gradually  without  doing  serious 
damage  to  the  school. 

To  this  favorable  issue  the  friendly  influence  of  the 
Albaugh  family,  who  were  outside  of  the  district  on  the 
other  side  from  Butts,  contributed  something.  With  Rachel 
Albaugh  Mason  became  better  acquainted  through  her 
interest  in  Tom's  fate.  She  sought  a  conversation  with  the 
master  almost  every  day  to  gain  information  about  the 
case.  The  placidity  of  her  face  was  not  ruffled  by  solici 
tude,  the  glory  of  her  eyes  was  not  dimmed  by  tears.  But 
interest  in  Tom's  fate  there  surely  was.  It  did  not  greatly 
matter  to  her  whether  Tom  had  committed  the  deed  or  not : 
in  any  case  he  was  a  bold  and  daring  fellow  who  had  lifted 


HIRAM  AND  BARBARA  239 

himself  out  of  the  commonplace,  and  who  was  proportion 
ately  interesting  to  Rachel's  imagination. 

But  the  people  generally  did  not  see  things  through  the 
eyes  of  a  romantic  young  woman.  They  were  for  the  most 
part  dead  against  Tom,  and  the  adverse  tide  set  more  and 
more  strongly  against  him  when  the  long  August  days  had 
worn  themselves  away  and  September  with  its  bursts  of 
storm  had  come  in.  If  Tom  had  shot  Lockwood  in  a  street 
affray  there  would  have  been  a  disposition  to  condone  the 
offense,  seeing  there  was  "  a  girl  in  the  case,"  a  circum 
stance  that  goes  for  much  in  the  minds  of  pioneer  people  j 
for  girls  and  horses  are  two  things  accounted  well  worth 
fighting  for  in  a  new  country.  Some  philosophers  explain 
this  by  saying  that  both  the  one  and  the  other  are  means 
of  ascent  in  the  scale  of  civilization.  But  the  fact  is,  that 
new-country  people  set  much  more  store  by  their  horses 
and  their  sweethearts  than  they  do  by  civilization,  for 
which,  in  the  abstract,  they  care  but  little.  They  also 
esteem  courage  very  highly.  But  to  shoot  a  man  in  the 
dark  as  Lockwood  had  been  shot  was  cowardly,  and  cow 
ardice  was  in  itself  almost  ground  enough  for  hanging  a 
man. 

This  increased  momentum  in  the  popular  feeling  against 
Tom  could  not  escape  the  knowledge  of  Mason,  to  whom 
people  talked  with  some  freedom,  but  he  managed  to  con 
ceal  it  from  Barbara  and  Mrs.  Gray  son.  His  situation 
indeed  was  becoming  more  and  more  difficult.  He  foresaw 
that  the  maintenance  of  his  present  attitude  toward  Barbara 


240  THE   GRAY  SONS 

might  soon  become  impossible.  To  be  always  near  to  her, 
and  yet  to  keep  himself  so  aloof,  was  more  than  even  his 
nature  would  bear.  Above  all,  to  see  her  consumed  by 
sorrow  and  to  be  afraid  to  speak  the  tenderest  word  of 
sympathy  was  torment.  The  very  aspect  of  her  suffering 
face  set  his  nerves  in  a  tremor ;  it  became  difficult  for  him 
to  say  good-morning  to  her  with  composure.  There  is  the 
uncontrollable  in  all  of  us ;  and  self-contained  as  Hiram 
was,  he  came  upon  the  uncontrollable  in  himself  at  last. 

He  had  reached  the  closing  days  of  his  school  term, 
though  it  yet  lacked  a  fortnight  of  the  September  "  court 
week"  at  Moscow.  It  was  his  purpose  to  remain  and  see 
the  Graysons  through  their  trouble:  what  would  become 
of  his  own  trouble,  when  Tom's  fate  should  have  been  set 
tled  one  way  or  the  other,  he  could  not  foretell.  And  he 
was,  moreover,  filled  with  the  worst  forebodings  in  regard 
to  the  issue  of  the  trial.  He  came  home  from  school  a  little 
earlier  than  usual  on  the  last  day  but  one  of  his  school 
session,  and  fearing  to  trust  himself  too  much  in  Barbara's 
presence,  he  had  gone  past  the  house  directly  to  the  barn, 
to  do  those  night  and  morning  things  which  are  classed  as 
chores  or  "  choores,"  according  to  the  accent  of  the  region 
in  which  you  chance  to  hear  the  word.  On  entering  the 
barn  he  was  surprised  to  find  Barbara  sitting  on  the  ^draw- 
horse  "  or  shaving-bench.  She  had  fled  to  the  threshing- 
floor,  with  the  belief  that  she  was  seeking  for  eggs,  but 
really  to  find  relief  in  tears  that  she  could  not  shed  in  the 
house  without  opening  the  great  deep  of  her  mother's  sor- 


HIRAM  AND  BARBARA  241 

rows.  She  had  remained  longer  than  she  intended,  weeping 
heartily,  with  no  witness  but  the  chattering  swallows  in  the 
rafters  above,  and  old  Blaze-face,  who  looked  placidly  at 
her  from  behind  the  bars  of  his  hay-rack. 

The  sight  of  Barbara  alone  in  the  dusky  light  of  the 
threshing-floor  awakened  in  Hiram  an  inexpressible  longing 
to  tell  her  of  all  there  was  in  his  heart  j  the  vision  of  Bar 
bara  in  tears  was  too  much  for  his  resolution.  He  went 
forward  and  sat  down  by  her  j  he  involuntarily  put  his  right 
arm  about  her  shoulders,  and  drew  her  to  him  in  a  gentle 
embrace  5  he  took  her  handkerchief  in  his  left  hand  and 
wiped  the  tears  from  her  cheeks  and  said  softly : 

"  Dear  Barbara,  now  don't  cry  any  more ;  I  'in  so  sorry 
for  you." 

Barbara  sat  still ;  whether  displeased  or  not  Hiram  could 
not  tell,  for  she  did  not  say  a  word.  She  neither  accepted 
nor  refused  his  embrace.  Hiram  felt  a  powerful  impulse  to 
say  more,  but  he  suddenly  remembered  that  Barbara's  grief 
had  no  relation  to  him,  and  it  seemed  hateful  that  he  should 
intrude  his  own  feelings  and  hopes  upon  her  in  her  all- 
engrossing  sorrow,  and  he  feared  to  offend  again  a  pride  so 
sensitive  as  he  knew  hers  to  be.  But  he  allowed  himself 
once  more  to  draw  the  silent  Barbara  toward  him  with  a 
gentle  pressure  ;  then,  with  a  resolute  effort  at  self-control, 
he  climbed  into  the  mow  to  pitch  down  some  hay  for  old 
Blaze.  This  duty  he  performed  as  quickly  as  possible, 
blindly  intent  on  returning  to  Barbara  once  more.  But 
when  he  came  down  again  Barbara  had  gone,  and  he  sat 
21 


242  THE  GEAYSONS 

down  on  the  draw-horse  where  she  had  been,  and  remained 
there  long,  all  alone  but  for  the  swallows  flitting  in  and  out 
through  the  openings  between  the  lower  ends  of  the  rafters, 
and  gossiping  from  one  mud-built  nest  to  another.  In  this 
time  he  asked  himself  questions  about  his  conduct  in  the 
difficult  days  yet  to  come,  and  tried  to  reproach  himself 
for  the  partial  surrender  he  had  made  to  his  feelings; 
though  now  he  had  given  so  much  expression  to  his  affec 
tion,  he  could  not  for  the  life  of  him  repent  of  it. 

If  he  had  known  how  much  strength  this  little  outbreak 
of  sympathy  on  his  part  had  given  to  Barbara,  his  con 
science  would  have  been  quite  at  ease.  Even  Mrs.  Gray  son 
was  sustained  by  the  girl's  accession  of  courage.  In  the 
darkest  days  that  followed,  Barbara  liked  to  recall  Hiram's 
voice  soothing  her,  and  begging  her  not  to  weep ;  and  with 
blushes  she  remembered  the  pressure  of  his  gentle  embrace 
about  her  shoulders.  This  memory  was  a  check  to  the 
bitterness  of  her  grief.  But  Hiram  had  lost  confidence  in 
himself.  There  were  yet  two  more  weeks  to  be  passed, 
and  unless  he  should  desert  Barbara  in  her  trouble,  he 
would  have  to  spend  these  weeks  in  unceasing  conflict. 

The  next  day  was  the  last  of  the  school-term,  and  accord 
ing  to  immemorial  usage,  the  last  Friday  afternoon  of  a 
school-term  was  spent  in  a  grand  spelling-match,  in  which 
others  than  the  regular  pupils  of  the  school  were  free  to 
engage.  It  was  while  this  orthographical  scrimmage  was 
going  on  that  the  county  clerk,  Magill,  sprucely  dressed, 
and  ruddy-faced  as  ever,  rode  up  to  the  school-house.  He 


HIRAM  AND  BARBARA  243 

spent  many  of  his  days  in  riding  about  the  county,  palaver 
ing  the  farmers  and  nattering  their  wives  and  daughters, 
and,  by  his  genial  Irish  manners,  making  friends  against 
the  time  of  need.  Who  could  tell  whether  it  might  not 
also  be  worth  while  to  make  friends  with  the  grown-up  and 
gro wing-up  pupils  of  the  Timber  Creek  school ;  there  would 
be  elections  after  these  boys  came  to  vote.  Besides,  he 
remembered  that  Rachel  Albaugh  was  one  of  Mason's  post 
graduate  scholars,  and  it  was  not  in  such  a  connoisseur  of 
fine  women  to  miss  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  finest  in 
the  county.  So  he  went  in  and  sat  for  an  hour  on  the  hard 
bench  with  his  back  against  the  stone  jamb  of  the  great 
empty  fire-place,  and  smilingly  listened  to  the  scholars 
wrestling  with  the  supreme  difficulties  of  Webster's  Ele 
mentary  j  such,  for  example,  as  "incomprehensibility,"  and 
other  "  words  of  eight  syllables  accented  on  the  sixth."  By 
the  time  the  spelling-match  was  over  and  the  school  was 
ready  to  be  dismissed  he  had  evolved  a  new  plan  relating  to 
his  own  affairs.  In  making  friends  and  electioneering  no 
one  could  excel  Magill;  but  for  attending  to  the  proper 
work  of  his  office  he  had  neither  liking  nor  aptitude,  and 
the  youth  he  kept  there,  though  good  enough  at  building 
fires  and  collecting  fees,  was  not  competent  to  transcribe  a 
document.  The  records  were  behind,  and  he  needed  some 
one  to  write  them  up.  He  was  too  prudent  to  take  into  the 
office  any  man  who  in  after  years  could  use  the  experience 
that  might  be  gained  and  the  knowledge  of  his  own  dilatory 
habits  that  might  be  acquired  there  to  supplant  him.  It 


244  THE  GRAYSONS 

occurred  to  him  now  that  it  would  be  a  good  stroke  to 
engage  Mason,  who  was  not  likely  ever  to  be  a  resident  of 
the  county,  and  who  could  therefore  never  become  a  rival. 

While  these  thoughts  were  in  Magill's  mind,  Hiram  was 
indulging  in  a  few  words  of  that  sort  of  sentiment  to  which 
schoolmasters  are  prone  when  the  parting  time  comes. 
When  the  children  were  dismissed  they  formed  themselves 
into  two  rows  on  the  outside  of  the  school-house  door, 
according  to  an  antique  and,  no  doubt,  Old- World  custom 
still  lingering  in  some  rural  places  at  that  time.  When  the 
master  made  his  exit  the  boys  were  on  his  right  and  the 
girls  were  on  his  left, — probably  because  of  Eve's  indiscre 
tion  in  the  garden  of  Eden.  Between  the  two  rows  Hiram 
inarched  slowly,  with  a  quizzical  look  on  his  face,  as  the 
boys,  to  the  best  of  their  knowledge  and  ability,  bowed  to 
him,  and  the  girls,  with  an  attempt  at  simultaneousness, 
dropped  "  curcheys  "  of  respect.  Magill  stood  in  the  door 
and  smiled  to  see  some  of  the  boys  bend  themselves  to  stiff 
right  angles  on  their  middle  hinges,  while  others  grinned 
foolishly  and  bobbed  their  heads  forward  or  sidewise, 
according  to  the  string  they  chanced  to  pull.  The  per 
formances  of  the  other  row  were  equally  various ;  some  of 
the  girls  bent  their  knees  and  recovered  themselves  all  in 
one  little  jerk,  while  others  dropped  so  low  as  to  "make 
tubs"  of  their  dress-skirts.  When  these  last  honors  had 
been  paid,  the  scholars  broke  ranks  and  started  for  their 
homes. 

As  Magill  put  one  foot  into  the  stirrup  he  said:  "Mason, 


HIRAM  AND  BARBARA  245 

how  would  yeh  like  to  come  down  to  Moscow  an'  help  me 
write  up  me  books  ?  I  'm  a  good  dale  behoind ;  an'  ef  you 
like  to  come  for  a  wake  or  two  an7  help  me  to  ketch  up,  I  '11 
give  yeh  four  bits  a  day  an'  yer  board  at  the  tavern." 

Hiram's  finances  were  so  straitened  that  this  offer  of 
fifty  cents  a  day  was  very  welcome  to  him.  How  could  he 
serve  the  Graysons  better  than  to  be  where  he  could  see 
Tom  every  day,  and  look  after  his  interest  in  any  contin 
gency  that  might  arise  ?  This  and  the  recollection  of  his 
embarrassing  situation  in  the  Grayson  household  quickly 
decided  him;  and  as  the  condition  of  MagilPs  office  was 
distressing,  he  promised  to  come  to  town  in  time  to  begin 
by  9  o'clock  the  next  morning. 

That  evening  he  explained  the  matter  to  Barbara  and 
her  mother  at  the  supper  table ;  and  before  bedtime  he  had 
arranged  with  Bob  McCord  to  look  after  the  "  critters,"  as 
Bob  called  them.  The  next  morning  Hiram  was  off  by 
daybreak.  Bob  McCord  took  him  half-way  with  old 
Blaze, — for  the  rest,  he  "rode  shank's  mare,"  as  the  people 
say, —  and  by  9  o'clock  he  was  trying  to  thread  the  laby 
rinth  of  confusion  in  MagilPs  office. 

To  Barbara  it  seemed  the  greatest  good  fortune  to  have 
Mason  near  to  Tom,  but  the  table  was  intolerably  lonely 
when  only  two  sorrow-smitten  women  sat  down  together. 


21' 


XXII 

THE  FIRST  DAY  OF  COURT 

HE  eventful  morning  at  the  opening  of  the 
"  fall  term  "  of  the  court  of  Moscow  came  at 
length.  Mrs.  Grayson  again  put  her  house 
into  the  care  of  her  neighbor  Mely  McCord, 
and  she  arranged  that  Bob  McCord  should  stay  at  home  so 
as  to  feed  the  cattle  that  night  and  the  next  morning.  It 
was  thought  that  Tom's  trial  would  take  place  on  the  second 
day.  Mrs.  Grayson  and  Barbara  drove  into  Moscow  early 
on  the  first  day  of  court,  that  they  might  give  Tom  all  the 
sympathy  and  assistance  possible. 

On  that  very  first  forenoon  the  grand  jury  heard  such 
fragments  of  evidence  as  the  public  prosecutor  thought 
necessary  to  bring  before  them,  and  found  an  indictment 
against  Thomas  Grayson,  Junior,  for  murder  in  the  first 
degree.  In  the  prevailing  state  of  public  opinion  a  true 
bill  would  almost  have  been  found  if  no  evidence  had  been 
before  them.  Delay  in  such  cases  was  not  to  be  thought 
of  in  that  time  of  summary  justice  •  dilatory  postponements 


THE  FIRST  DAY  OF  COVET  247 

were  certainly  not  to  be  expected  in  a  court  presided  over, 
as  this  one  was,  by  Judge  Watkins.  He  was  a  man  ap 
proaching  sixty  years  of  age,  with  a  sallow,  withered  face; 
a  victim  to  hot  biscuit  and  dyspepsia ;  arbitrary  and  petu 
lant,  but  with  deep-set,  intelligent  black  eyes.  Though  his 
temper  was  infirm,  his  voice  crabbed,  and  his  administra 
tion  of  justice  austere  and  unrelenting,  he  was  eminently 
just,  and  full  of  the  honorable  if  somewhat  irascible 
pride  of  a  Virginian  with  a  superstitious  reverence  for  his 
"  family."  Judge  Watkins  came  of  an  ancestry  who  were 
famous  only  for  courageously  holding  up  their  heads  and 
doing  nothing  that  they  considered  unworthy  of  gentlemen. 
Their  greatest  pride  was  that  they  had  always  been  proud. 
The  judge's  coat  hung  loosely  on  his  frame,  and  his  trou 
sers  were  generally  drawn  up  in  wrinkles  so  as  to  show  the 
half  of  his  boot-legs.  His  garments  were,  moreover,  well 
worn  and  rather  coarse ;  like  his  planter  ancestors,  he  never 
fancied  that  dress  could  add  anything  to  the  dignity  of  a 
gentleman.  The  substantial  distinction  of  a  gentleman,  in 
his  estimation,  consisted  in  being  of  a  "  good  family,"  and 
in  preferring  to  lose  one's  life  rather  than  to  lie,  and  to  take 
another  man's  life  rather  than  to  suffer  the  reproach  of 
falsehood  or  cowardice.  It  was  characteristic  of  a  Virgin 
ian  of  this  type  to  have  something  like  a  detestation  for 
clothes,  except  in  so  far  as  they  served  for  decency  and 
warmth;  all  the  great  difference  which  separated  a  re 
spected  gentleman  from  a  despised  fop  lay  in  this  fierce 
contempt  for  appearances.  Judge  Watkins  left  fine  coats 


248  THE  GRAY  SONS 

and  gold  watches  for  those  who  needed  such  decorations; 
he  clothed  himself  in  homespun  and  family  pride. 

When  the  indictment  was  read,  the  judge,  looking  from 
under  his  overhanging,  grizzled  eyebrows,  said,  "When  can 
we  try  this  case  ? "  The  counsel  on  both  sides  knew  that 
he  intended  to  dispatch  this  disagreeable  business  promptly. 
As  he  put  the  question,  Judge  Watkins  looked  first  at 
Allen,  the  prosecuting  attorney,  and  then  at  Lincoln. 

"  We  are  ready,  your  Honor,"  said  the  prosecuting  attor 
ney,  a  little  man  with  a  freckled  face  and  a  fidgety  desire 
to  score  a  point  on  every  occasion.  "  I  hope  there  '11  be  no 
delay,  your  Honor.  The  defense  knew  six  weeks  ago  that 
a  true  bill  would  be  found.  They  Ve  had  time  enough  to 
prepare,  and  I  hope  we  shall  be  able  to  go  on." 

The  judge  listened  impatiently  to  this,  with  the  air  of  a 
man  who  has  heard  so  much  clap-trap  that  it  has  become 
nauseous  to  him.  Indeed,  before  Allen  had  completed  his 
little  speech  Judge  Watkins  had  turned  quite  away  from 
him  and  fastened  his  deep-set  eyes  on  young  Lincoln,  who 
rose  to  his  feet  without  succeeding  in  getting  himself  quite 
straight, —  this  was  always  a  matter  of  time  with  him, — 
and  said  in  a  grave,  half-despondent  way: 

"  Your  Honor,  we  are  ready." 

"  I  '11  set  the  case  for  to-morrow,  then/7  said  the  judge, 
and  added  in  a  sharper  key,  "  Sheriff,  command  silence ! " 
This  last  injunction  was  prompted  by  an  incontinent  rustle 
of  interest  in  the  court-room  when  the  time  for  the  murder 
trial  was  fixed  for  the  next  day.  The  judge's  high-strung, 


THE  FIEST  DAY  OF  COURT  249 

irascible  nerves,  and  his  sense  of  the  sacred  dignity  of  his 
court,  made  him  take  offense  at  the  slightest  symptom  of 
popular  feeling. 

The  sheriff,  who  sat  at  the  judge's  left  a  little  lower  than 
the  judge,  now  stood  up  and  rapped  with  a  mallet  on  the 
plank  desk  in  front  of  him,  and  cried  lustily,  "Si—  lence 
in  court ! " 

And  all  was  still  again. 

The  judge's  dignity  would  not  admit  of  his  addressing 
the  commonalty,  who,  since  they  were  neither  members  of 
the  bar,  court  officers,  witnesses,  nor  criminals,  were  beyond 
official  recognition,  but  he  said  to  the  sheriff  in  a  severe 
tone: 

"  Sheriff,  you  will  arrest  any  person  who  makes  any  kind 
of  disturbance  in  the  court." 

Then  the  business  of  the  court  went  on.  One  after  an 
other  of  the  spectators,  whose  interest  was  centered  in  the 
next  day's  session,  rose  and  tip-toed  softly  out  of  the  room. 
They  did  not  all  go  at  once,  nor  did  any  one  of  them  go 
noisily.  The  judge  had  been  known  to  fine  a  man  for 
treading  heavily,  and  those  who  wore  squeaking  boots  were 
in  misery  until  they  were  quite  clear  of  the  door. 


XXIII 

BROAD   RUN  IN  ARMS 

HE  popular  imagination  had  made  Tom  into 
something  monstrous.  Visitors  to  the  village 
went  to  the  jail  window  to  look  at  him,  as  one 
might  go  to  look  at  a  wild  beast.  Confine 
ment,  solicitude,  and  uncertainty  had  worn  upon  him.  He 
shrank  nervously  into  the  darker  corners  of  the  jail  to  avoid 
observation.  His  mind  was  a  very  shuttlecock  between  the 
battledores  of  hope  and  fear.  He  knew  no  more  than  the 
public  of  the  purposes  or  expectations  of  his  lawyer.  All 
that  Lincoln  would  say  to  Tom  or  his  friends  was  that  the 
case  was  a  difficult  one,  and  that  it  was  better  to  leave  the 
line  of  defense  wholly  to  himself.  But  in  proportion  as 
Tom's  counsel  was  uncommunicative  about  his  plans  rumor 
was  outspoken  and  confident,  though  not  always  consistent 
in  its  account  of  them.  It  was  reported  that  Tom  was  to 
plead  guilty  to  manslaughter ;  that  Lincoln  would  try  to 
clear  him  on  the  ground  of  justifiable  homicide  in  self- 
defense  ;  and  that  the  lawyer  had  found  a  man  willing  to 
swear  that  he  was  in  company  with  Torn  on  another  part 

250 


BROAD  R  UN  IN  ARMS  251 

of  the  ground  at  the  very  time  of  the  shooting.  In  any  case, 
it  was  decided  that  Lincoln  would  move  for  a  change  of 
venue,  for  it  was  well  understood  that  in  Moscow  the  ac 
cused  did  not  stand  "  a  ghost  of  a  chance." 

As  the  time  of  the  court  session  drew  on,  a  new  and 
more  exciting  report  had  got  abroad.  It  was  everywhere 
said  that  Dave  Sovine  had  been  bought  off,  and  that  he  was 
to  get  his  money  and  leave  the  country  in  time  to  avoid 
testifying.  How  the  story  was  set  a-going,  or  who  was 
responsible  for  it,  no  one  could  tell.  Dave  So  vine's  con 
ferences  with  Bob  McCord  may  have  raised  surmises,  for  as 
the  time  of  the  trial  approached,  Dave  grew  more  and  more 
solicitous  to  get  the  hundred  dollars  and  be  off.  He  even 
hinted  to  Bob  that  he  might  refuse  to  accept  it,  if  it  did  not 
come  soon.  Bob  McCord  had  his  own  notions  about  the 
report.  He  thought  that  either  Sovine  had  incontinently 
let  the  matter  out,  which  was  hardly  probable,  or  that  Abe 
Lincoln  for  some  reason  wanted  such  a  belief  to  be  spread 
abroad.  Secretive  and  tricky  as  Bob  was,  there  was  a  finesse 
about  Lincoln's  plans  which  he  could  not  penetrate,  and 
which  led  him  more  than  once  to  remark  that  Abe  was 
"  powerful  deep  for  a  young  feller."  Whether  the  rumor 
was  launched  for  a  purpose  or  not,  it  had  had  the  effect 
of  waking  up  Allen,  the  public  prosecutor,  who  put  a 
watch  on  Sovine's  movements,  and  gave  his  chief  witness 
to  understand  that  any  attempt  of  his  to  leave  the  coun- 
fr*y>  by  night  or  day,  would  bring  about  his  immediate 
arrest. 


252  THE  GRAYSOXS 

The  story  that  Sovine  had  been  bought  off  produced 
another  result  which  could  not  have  been  desired  by  either 
of  the  lawyers :  it  fanned  to  a  blaze  the  slumbering  embers 
of  Broad  Run.  Jake  Hogan's  abortive  expedition  to  Perrys- 
burg  had  left  resentment  rankling  in  his  manly  bosom.  He 
had  reluctantly  given  over  the  attempt  to  redeem  himself 
by  making  a  raid  on  Moscow  the  Sunday  night  following, 
when  Deputy  Sheriff  Markham  had  pretended  to  look  up  a 
hypothetical  wall-eyed, red- whiskered  man,  who  was  believed 
to  have  had  some  reason  for  killing  George  Lockwood.  It 
was,  indeed,  only  by  degrees  that  Broad  Run  came  to  under 
stand  that  its  dignity  had  been  again  trifled  with.  The  first 
result  of  its  indignation  was  that  the  Broad  Run  clan, 
attributing  to  Sheriff  Plunkett  all  the  humiliation  put  upon 
it,  had  unanimously  resolved  to  compass  his  defeat  at  the 
next  election.  Plunkett,  having  heard  of  this,  promptly  took 
measures  to  avert  the  defection  of  his  good  friends  on  the 
Run.  Markham,  as  the  principal  author  of  the  difficulty, 
was  dismissed  from  his  place  of  deputy  on  some  trifling 
pretext.  It  did  not  cost  Sheriff  Plunkett  serious  pain  to 
let  him  go ;  Markham  was  becoming  too  conspicuous  a  fig 
ure.  It  is  the  way  of  shrewd  small  men  to  cut  down  in 
time  an  apprentice  who  is  likely  to  overtop  the  master. 
Then  Plunkett  told  his  brother-in-law  to  go  out  to  Broad 
Run  and  explain  things.  Greater  diplomatists  than  he  have 
prepared  to  make  use  of  irresponsible  ambassadors  when 
they  had  that  to  say  which  it  might  be  necessary  to  repudi 
ate.  The  brother-in-law  was  one  of  those  men  who  like  to 


BROAD  RUN  IN  ARMS  253 

take  a  hand  in  local  politics,  not  for  the  sake  of  holding 
office  themselves,  but  for  the  pleasure  of  intrigue  for  its 
own  sake.  He  first  sought  Jake  Hogan  at  his  cabin,  and  sat 
and  whittled  with  him  on  the  wood-pile  in  the  most  friendly 
way,  laughing  at  Jake's  lank  jokes,  flattering  his  enormous 
self-love,  and  by  every  means  in  his  power  seeking  to 
appease  Hogan's  wrath  against  the  sheriff.  The  sheriff 
had  n't  anything  to  do  with  running  Tom  off  after  the 
inquest,  said  the  envoy, — Markham  had  done  that.  It  was 
Markham  who  had  peddled  around  the  story  of  the  man 
with  red  whiskers.  Markham  had  got  too  big-feeling  for 
his  place.  The  sheriff  saw  that  Markham  was  against  the 
Broad  Eun  boys,  and  so  he  put  him  out — dropped  him  like 
a  hot  potato,  you  know. 

"Just  consider,"  the  brother-in-law  urged,  "how  much 
Plunkett  's  done  for  the  boys.  He  's  refused  tee-totally  to 
let  Tom  go  to  Perrysburg.  Plunkett  ain't  going  to  be 
dictated  to  by  rich  men  like  ole  Tom  Gray  son.  He  knows 
who  elected  him.  And  he  don't  feel  obliged  to  protect  a 
murderer  after  the  coroner's  jury  says  he 's  guilty." 

"  They 's  been  talk  of  his  shootin'  if  any  reg'laters  come 
around,"  said  Jake. 

"  Him  shoot  ? "  answered  the  brother-in-law.  "  He 's  done 
everything  he  could  not  to  put  out  the  boys,  and  what  'u'd 
'e  shoot  for?  He  ain't  anxious  to  have  the  job  of  hangin' 
Tom  Grayson.  He 's  heard  tell  of  sheriffs,  'fore  now,  that 's 
felt  themselves  ha'nted  as  long's  they  lived,  because  they'd 
hanged  a  man.  He  ain't  goin'  to  fight  for  the  privilege  of 

90 


254  THE  GRAY  SONS 

hangin'  Tom,  and  he  ain't  the  kind  to  do  anythin'  brash, 
and  he  ain't  against  good  citizens  like  the  boys  on  the  Run 
— depend  on  that.  Of  course,"— here  the  brother-in-law 
picked  up  a  new  splinter  and  whittled  it  cautiously  as  he 
spoke, — •  "  of  course  you  know  't  the  sheriff 's  give  bonds. 
He 's  got  to  make  a  show  of  defending  his  prisoner.  He  's 
took  'n  oath,  you  see,  'n'  people  expect  him  to  resist.  But 
if  a  lot  of  men  comes,  what  can  one  man  do  ?  S'posin'  they 
was  to  tie  his  hands,  and  then  s'pose  they  was  to  say  if  he 
moved  they  'd  shoot.  What  could  he  do  ?" 

The  envoy  stopped  whittling  and  looked  at  Jake,  giving 
the  slightest  possible  wink  with  one  eye.  Jake  nodded  his 
head  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  is  confident  that  he  is  not 
such  a  fool  as  to  be  unable  to  take  a  hint  enforced  by  half 
a  wink. 

"What  does  'n  oath  amount  to  with  a  pistol  at  your 
head!"  the  brother-in-law  inquired;  "an'  what's  the  use  of 
bonds  if  your  hands  are  tied?  You  can  talk  strong;  that 
don't  hurt  anybody." 

Jake  nodded  again,  and  said,  "  In  course." 

" If  you  was  to  hear  about  the  sheriff's  sayin'  he'd  ruther 
die  than  give  up  his  prisoner,  you  can  just  remember  that  he 
's  got  to  talk  that  way ;  he  's  under  bonds,  and  he  's  swore 
in,  and  the  people  expect  him  to  talk  about  doin'  his  dooty. 
But  you  're  too  old  a  hand  to  set  much  store  by  talk  ? " 

"  Well,  I  'low  I  am,"  said  Hogan,  greatly  pleased  that  his 
experience  and  astuteness  were  at  length  coming  in  for  due 
recognition. 


BROAD  RUN  IN  ARMS  255 

Then  when  Jake  was  pretty  well  mollified,  the  brother- 
in-law  adjourned  himself  and  Jake  to  the  grocery,  where  he 
treated  the  crowd,  and  in  much  more  vague  and  non-com 
mittal  terms  let  all  the  citizens  that  resorted  thither  under 
stand  that  Sheriff  Plunkett  was  their  friend,  and  that  Pete 
Markham  was  the  friend  of  the  rich  men  and  the  lawyers. 
But  he  took  pains  to  leave  the  impression  that  Tom  would 
certainly  meet  his  deserts  at  the  hands  of  the  court,  for  the 
sheriff  desired  to  avoid  the  embarrassment  of  a  mob  if  he 
could. 

The  sweetness  of  Jake  Hogan's  spirit  had  been  curdled 
by  his  disappointment  and  reverses,  but  these  overtures 
from  the  sheriff  to  him  as  a  high-contracting  power  were 
very  flattering  and  assuring.  When,  a  little  later,  the 
startling  intelligence  reached  that  center  of  social  and 
intellectual  activity,  the  Broad  Run  grocery,  that  Dave 
So  vine  had  been  bought  off,  Broad  Run  was  aroused,  and 
Jake  Hogan  left  off  sulking  in  his  tent  and  resumed  his 
activity  in  public  affairs. 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you,"  he  asked,  leaning  his  back  against 
the  counter  and  supporting  himself  on  his  two  elbows  thrust 
behind  him,  while  one  of  his  legs,  ending  in  a  stogy  boot, 
was  braced  out  in  front  of  him,  "you  can't  hang  the 
nephew  V  a  rich  man  in  such  a  dodrotted  country  as  this 
yer  Eelenoys  ?  Dave  Sovine  's  bought  off,  they  say,  by  an 
ornery  young  lawyer  un  that  air  Bob  McCord."  Jake  was 
too  prudent  to  apply  any  degrading  adjectives  to  a  man  of 
Bob's  size  and  renown.  "  Dave  '11  light  out  the  day  afore 


256  THE  GRAY  SONS 

the  trial  with  rocks  in  his  pockets,  un  that  air  young  cow 
ard  '11  git  clean  off.  Where  's  yer  spunk,  I 'd  like  to  know? 
'F  you  're  go'n'  to  be  hornswoggled  by  lawyers  like  that  air 
long-legged  Abe  Lincoln,  un  skin-flints  like  ole  Seven-per 
cent  Tom  Gray  son,  w'y,  you  Jcin,  that  's  all." 

Jake,  with  his  head  thrown  forward,  looked  sternly 
around  on  the  group  about  him,  and  they  seemed  to  feel 
the  reproach  of  his  superior  aggressiveness.  Bijy  Grimes 
was  rendered  so  uneasy  by  Jake's  regard  that  he  shut  his 
mouth ;  and  then,  not  knowing  what  better  to  do,  he  ven 
tured  to  ask  humbly,  "  What  kin  we  do  about  it,  Jake  ? " 
letting  his  mouth  drop  open  again  in  token  that  he  waited 
for  a  reply. 

"  Do  ? "  said  Jake  contemptuously.  "  W'y,  chain-lightnin', 
Bijy,  what  a  thing,  now,  to  ax !  Show  me  two  dozen,  ur 
even  one  dozen,  men  that  '11  stan'  at  my  back  tell  the  blood 
runs,  un  I  '11  show  'em  't  folks  can't  take  a  change  of  veuoo 
out-uh  the  k-younty  that  knows  all  about  the  rascality  into 
one  that  don't.  I  '11  show  'em  how  to  buy  off  witnesses,  un 
I  '11  1'arn  these  yer  dodrotted  lawyers  un  rich  men  how  to 
fool  weth  the  very  bone  un  sinoo  uv  the  land." 

Notwithstanding  the  natural  love  of  these  men  for  a  little 
excitement,  they  had  been  rendered  somewhat  unresponsive 
by  Jake's  failures.  The  most  of  them  thought  it  best  to  go 
to  town  on  the  day  of  the  trial  and  see  how  it  would  come 
out.  But  at  6  o'clock  in  the  evening  of  the  first  day  of 
court,  Lew  Baker,  a  farmer  from  the  river  valley  beyond 
the  Run,  rode  past  the  door  of  the  grocery  on  his  way  home, 


BROAD  RUN  IN  ARMS  257 

and  said  a  collective  "  Howdy "  to  the  three  or  four  who 
stood  outside.  Bijy  Grimes,  who  was  one  of  them,  came 
out  toward  the  middle  of  the  road  heading  off  the  traveler. 

"  Hello,  Lew !  Any  nooze  about  the  trial ! "  he  said,  drop 
ping  his  lower  jaw  from  between  his  fat  infantile  cheeks 
and  waiting  for  a  reply,  while  the  rest  of  the  group  moved 
up  to  hearing  distance. 

"  Well,  yes,"  said  Baker,  pulling  up  his  horse  and  swing 
ing  himself  round  in  the  saddle  so  as  to  bring  the  most  of 
his  weight  on  the  right  stirrup,  while  he  rested  his  left 
elbow  on  his  left  knee  and  his  right  hand  on  the  horse's 
mane.  "I  heern  tell,  jest  as  I  come  away,  that  Dave  what- 
ye-may-call-'im,  the  witness,  had  sloped,  liker'n  not.  He 
hain't  been  seed  aroun'  for  a  right  smart  while,  un  they  say 
he  's  gone  off  to  New  Orleans  ur  the  Injun  country.  Mos 
cow  's  stirred  up  about  it." 

"  Tu-lah  ! "  said  Bijy.  "  They  'low  he  '11  be  got  off,  don't 
they?" 

"  They  're  shore  sumpin  's  fixed,  fer  the  young  feller's 
lawyer  hain't  soopeenied  a  derned  witness." 

"  Tu-lah  ! "  said  Bijy.     "  Is  that  a  f ack ! " 

"  Shore  's  shootin',  they  say.  He  's  to  be  got  off  some 
how,  I  s'pose." 

"  Tu-laws-a-massy ! "  broke  out  Bijy;  and  turning  to  his 
fellow-loafers  he  said,  "  That  '11  rile  Jake  purty  consid'able, 
now  won't  it  *?  " 

It  did  stir  up  Jake  when  he  heard  of  it.  He  promptly  set 
to  work  to  form  a  company  to  descend  at  once  on  Moscow 
22* 


258  THE  GRAY  SONS 

and  take  the  case  out  of  the  hands  of  the  dodrotted  lawyers. 
He  could  not  at  so  late  an  hour  get  together  more  than 
twenty  or  twenty-five  men  from  Broad  Run  and  the  regions 
within  warning  distance.  Some  of  these  joined  him  only 
because  they  could  not  endure  to  have  anything  very  excit 
ing  take  place  in  their  absence :  it  would  entail  the  neces 
sity  of  their  hearing  for  the  rest  of  their  lives  the  account 
given  of  the  affair  by  the  participators,  who  would  always 
value  themselves  on  it.  Some  of  the  larger  boys,  whose  aid 
had  been  rejected  in  the  previous  excursion  because  they 
were  not  accounted  mature  enough  for  such  public  respon 
sibilities,  were  now  admitted:  the  company  would  be  small, 
and  a  boy  is  better  than  nobody  in  a  pinch.  S'manthy's 
oldest  son,  a  tow-headed  fellow  of  fifteen,  was  one  of  these, 
and  he  was  sent  over  the  hill  to  warn  Zeke  Tucker,  who 
was  still  at  Britton's,  a  mile  away  from  the  borders  of  what 
was  distinctively  called  "  the  Run  Neighborhood." 

The  September  twilight  was  already  fading  when  the  lad 
presented  himself  in  front  of  Zeke  Tucker,  who  sat  perched 
on  top  of  a  rail  fence  for  rest  and  observation  after  his 
day's  work.  Mrs.  Britton  was  making  the  house  over- 
warm,  and  Zeke  preferred  the  fresh  air. 

"  I  say,  Zeke,"  said  the  breathless  boy,  "  it 's  to  come  off 
to-night,  un  I  'in  a-goin',  by  hokey ! " 

"  What 's  to  come  off  to-night  ? " 

"  W'y,  the  hangin' — the  hangin'  of  that  young  chap  Tom 
down  't  Moscow;  un  I  'm  goin'  to  take  grandad's  ole  flint 
lock." 


ZKKE     AND     S  MANTHY  S     OLDEST     SON. 


BROAD  RUN  IN  ARMS  259 

"  Your  grandad's  ole  flint-lock  !  You  might  as  well  take 
a  stick/'  said  Zeke. 

11  Oh  !  it  '11  go  off  ef  you  tech  it  off  weth  a  coal  of  fire,  but 
I  don't  'low  I  kin  find  any  coal  to  tech  it  off  weth  down 
thar,"  and  S'manthy's  son  scratched  his  head  thoughtfully. 
"  But,  anyways,  it  '11  look  like  a  gun  in  the  night." 

"  Yes,  un  you  '11  look  like  a  man,  I  s'pose.  But  what 
time  's  Jake  goin'  f " 

"  Twix'  ten  un  'leven.     Donchoo  be  late." 

"  You  tell  Jake  not  to  go,  noways,  wethout  me,"  said  Zeke, 
hoping  by  this  to  delay  Jake's  start. 


XXIV 

FIRST  COME,   FIRST  SERVED 

EKE  sat  restless  on  the  fence  until  S'manthy's 
boy,  exultant  that  his  manhood  was  to  be 
recognized  by  his  admission  to  the  band,  had 
gone  out  of  sight  in  the  direction  of  the  gro 
cery.  Then  Zeke  sprang  from  the  fence  and  started,  as  fast 
as  legs  could  carry,  along  an  old  Indian  trail,  hoping  by 
this  disused  and  in  some  places  obstructed  short  cut  across 
the  prairie  to  save  a  mile  of  the  eight-miles'  journey  to  Bob 
McCord's  cabin.  Bob  was  already  abed  when  Zeke,  badly 
blown  by  his  rapid  walking,  knocked  at  the  door. 

"Who's  there?"  called  Bob,  emerging  from  his  first 
heavy  sleep. 

"It's  me — Zeke  Tucker!  Git  up,  quick,  Bob!  Jake 
Hogan  's  off  at  ten  'r  'leven,  un  it 's  nigh  onto  that  a'ready." 
And  Zeke  impatiently  rattled  the  door  of  the  cabin,  the 
latch-string  of  which  had  been  drawn  in  to  lock  it. 

Bob  came  down  on  the  floor  with  a  thump,  and  his  few 
clothes  were  soon  pulled  on;  then  he  came  out  and  stood 
in  the  fresh  air,  on  the  "  butt-cut "  of  a  tulip-tree,  or  "flower- 

260 


FIIiST  COME,  FIKST  SERrED  261 

ing  poplar/7  which,  to  compensate  for  the  descent  of  the 
hill-side,  had  been  laid  against  the  bottom  log  of  his  cabin 
for  a  front-door  step.  Zeke  explained  to  him  how  urgent 
the  case  was. 

"  Baub  !  don't  you  go  'n>  go  off  down  to  Moscow  to-night," 
called  Mrs.  McCord.  "  They  hain't  no  airthly  use  in  your 
bother  in'  yourself  so  much  about  other  folkses  business. 
You'd  orter  stay 'n'  look  arter  your  own  wife  un  childern."  It 
was  Mrs.  McCord's  invariable  habit  to  object,  in  her  plaint 
ive  and  impotent  fashion,  to  everything  her  husband  pro 
posed  to  do.  She  had  not  the  slightest  expectation  that  he 
would  remain  at  home  in  consequence  of  anything  she 
might  say,  nor  did  she  care  that  he  should  j  but  she  had  a 
vocation  to  hold  in  check  his  thriftless  propensities.  This 
she  tried  to  do  by  protests  uttered  indiscriminately  against 
all  his  outgoings  and  his  incomings,  his  downsittings  and 
his  uprisings. 

"  We  ain't  got  no  hoss,"  said  Bob,  replying  to  Zeke,  and 
paying  no  heed  to  his  wife.  "  Mrs.  Grayson  un  Barb'ry  've 
gone  un  gone  to  town  weth  ole  Blaze,  so  's  to  be  weth  Tom 
airly  in  the  mornin'.  What  on  yerth  to  do  I  don't  noways 
see."  Bob  was  standing  with  his  fists  in  his  pockets,  look 
ing  off  anxiously  toward  the  horizon. 

"  Can't  you  git  Butts's? "  said  Zeke. 

"  Thunder  !  No  !  Buttses  un  Gray  sons  don't  hitch. 
Butts  don't  speak  to  none  uv  'em,  un  he  hates  Tom  the 
wust,  fer  throwin'  rocks  at  his  geese  when  they  got  into 
the  medder,  un  dauggin'  his  haugs  out-uh  the  corn.  They  'd 


262  THE  GEATSONS 

a  leetle  ruther  Tom  ?d  be  lynched  un  not.  By  blazes  !  I  >ve 
got  to  git  one  of  Butts's  bosses  right  straight  off.  Buchan 
an's  hoss  is  lame,  un  they  hain't  nary  nuther  one  to  be 
got  this  side  uv  Albaugh's,  and  that 's  too  fur  away.  You 
go  down  to  the  branch  un  wait  f er  me,  un  I  '11  git  Butts's 
little  wagon.  I  'low  they  '11  be  hoppin'  mad  'f  they  fine  out 
what  I  got  it  fer,  but  I  've  got  to  git  it,  'f  I  have  to  steal  it. 
They  hain't  no  two  ways  about  it." 

"  I  don't  think  you  'd  ortuh  go  off  that  a- way,  Baub," 
began  Mrs.  McCord  again.  "  Un  me  more  '11  half  sick. 
I  've  been  f  eeliu'  kind-uh  slarruppy  like  f  er  two  'r  three 
days.  Un  them  air  taters  is  to  be  dug,  un  Mely  's  gone 
away.  You  V  Zeke  Tucker  '11  make  a  purty  fist  uv  it 
a-lickin'  all  Broad  Run,  now,  wonch  yeh  ?  Wha'  choo  got 
to  do  weth  Jake — " 

But  Bob  did  not  hear  the  rest  of  it,  nor  was  it  ever 
uttered  indeed.  For  Mrs  McCord,  when  she  found  that 
her  husband  had  gone,  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  finish 
her  lamentations;  she  only  drew  a  sigh  of  complacent 
long-suffering  and  submission  to  fate,  and  went  to  sleep. 

Hardened  sinner  that  he  was,  Big  Bob  felt  a  little  twinge 
of  shame  as  he  made  his  way  rapidly  to  Butts's  house.  His 
wife's  set  speech  about  being  more  than  half  sick,  often  as 
he  had  heard  it,  and  little  as  he  had  ever  heeded  it,  had  now 
made  a  sufficient  lodgment  in  his  consciousness  to  suggest 
a  way  out  of  his  difficulty ;  but  it  was  a  way  which  a  loafer 
of  the  superior  sort,  such  as  Bob,  might  feel  ashamed  to 
take,  knowing  that  such  a  scheme  as  he  was  concocting 


FIRST  COME,  FIRST  SERVED  263 

would  be  an  outrage  on  all  the  sacred  principles  of  good 
neighborhood — an  outrage  only  to  be  justified  by  military 
necessity.  All  the  way  to  Butts's,  hurried  as  he  was,  his 
hands  were  ramming  his  trousers-pockets,  after  his  fashion 
of  groping  there  for  a  solution  of  his  difficulties.  It  was 
the  carrying  over  into  other  affairs  the  habitual  research 
which  the  hunter  makes  for  bullets,  caps,  patching,  or  jack- 
knife  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  the  forest. 

Arrived  at  the  unpainted,  new  frame-house,  which,  being 
two  feet  longer  and  one  foot  broader  than  any  other  in  the 
neighborhood,  was  the  particular  pride  of  the  Butts  family, 
he  noted  that  all  the  lights  were  out,  and  after  hesitating 
whether  to  capture  the  horse  by  stealth  or  by  strategy,  he 
went  to  the  front  door  and  rapped.  The  head  of  the  pro 
prietor  came  out  of  one  of  the  lower  windows  with  an 
abrupt  "  Who  's  there  ?  "  spoken  with  that  irritation  a  weary 
man  is  prone  to  express  when  awakened  from  his  first  nap 
to  attend  to  some  one  else's  wants. 

"  I  say,  Mr.  Butts,"  said  Bob,  pushing  his  hands  harder 
against  the  bottoms  of  his  pockets,  "  kin  I  git  the  loan  uv 
one  uv  your  hosses  un  your  leetle  wagon  to  fetch  the  doc 
tor?  My  ole  woman 's  purty  bad;  been  sick  ever  sence  the 
sun  was  >n  'our  high,  un  we  can't  git  nothin'  to  do  no  good." 

"  What  seems  to  be  the  matter  ? '»  said  Butts,  wishing  to 
postpone  an  unpleasant  decision. 

Bob  hesitated  a  moment:  lying  is  a  dangerous  business 
unless  it  is  carried  on  with  circumspection.  "  Blamed  'f  I 
know  jest  what  it  is.  I  suspicion  it 's  the  dyspepsy." 


264  THE  GE  AY  SONS 

The  name  of  dyspepsia  was  new  to  the  country  at  that 
day,  though  the  complaint  was  ancient  enough,  no  doubt. 
Just  what  dyspepsy  might  be  Bob  did  not  know,  but  he  hit 
on  it  as  the  vaguest  term  he  could  recall  and  one  that  had 
a  threatening  sound.  It  would  not  have  served  his  purpose 
to  have  repeated  Mrs.  McCord's  diagnosis  of  her  own  case, 
that  she  was  "  f  eelin'  kiiid-uh  slarruppy  like."  "  Whatever 
't  is,  she  don't  think  she  kin  git  through  till  morniii'  'thout 
I  git  a  doctor ." 

"  Well,  I  doan  know.  The  sorrel  's  lame ;  un  I  don't 
like  to  let  the  bay  colt  go  noways,  he  's  sech  a  sperrited 
critter." 

Butts  drew  his  head  in  at  this  point  to  consult  with  Mrs. 
Butts  as  to  how  he  could  evade  lending  the  cherished  bay 
colt. 

"  Looky  h-yer,  Mr.  McCord,"  presently  called  Mrs.  Butts, 
keeping  her  nightcapped  head  well  out  of  sight  as  she 
spoke,  "you  don't  want  no  doctor  nohow."  Mrs.  Butts 
had  come  by  virtue  of  superior  credulity  to  hold  the  posi 
tion  of  neighborhood  doctress,  and  she  was  not  friendly  to 
regular  physicians.  "  You  jest  take  along  with  you  a  bottle 
of  my  new  medicine,  't  I  call  the  l  Scatter  Misery.'  It 's 
made  out-uh  roots  an'  yarbs,  an'  it 's  the  best  thing  I  know 
fer  mos'  every  kind  of  complaint.  It 's  good  insides  an' 
outsides.  You  rub  the  Scatter  Misery  onto  the  outsides  un 
give  her  a  swaller  now  un  then  insides.  It  '11  fetch  'er 
'roun'  in  an  hour  or  two." 

Bob  felt  himself  fairly  entangled  in  his  own  intrigue,  but 


FIRST  COME,  FIRST  SEE  VED  265 

he  gave  his  great  fists  another  push  into  his  trousers- 
pockets  and  said : 

"  I  'm  much  obleeged,  Mrs.  Butts,  but  my  ole  woman  tole 
me  ez  I  wuz  n't  to  come  back  'thout  a  doctor ;  un  ef  you 
hain't  got  no  critter  you  kin  len'  me,  I  mus'  be  a-gittin' 
'long  down  to  Albaugh's  mighty  quick.  That  ?s  a  powerful 
ways  off,  though.  I  wish  1 'd  gone  there  straight  un  not 
come  over  h-yer." 

This  last  was  uttered  in  a  tone  of  plaintive  disappoint 
ment  as  Bob  turned  away,  walking  slowly  and  giving  the 
family  council  time  to  change  its  mind. 

"  Aw,  well,  Bob,"  called  Butts,  after  a  conference  with 
his  wife,  "  I  don't  like  to  disobleege  a  neighbor.  You  kin 
have  the  bay  colt ;  but  you  must  drive  slow,  Bob.  He 's  a 
young  thing  un  the  fidgetiest  critter." 

Bob  would  drive  slow.  He  professed  that  he  never  drove 
faster  'n  a  slow  trot,  "  nohows  you  can  fix  it."  And  he 
helped  Butts  to  hitch  up  with  no  sense  of  exultation,  but 
rather  with  a  sneaking  feeling  of  shame. 

However,  nothing  troubled  Bob  long  or  deeply,  and  when 
he  had  passed  the  branch  and  taken  in  Zeke  Tucker,  and 
got  out  of  the  woods  to  the  smooth  prairie  road  beyond,  he 
forgot  his  scruples  and  tried  to  find  out  just  how  much 
speed  Butts's  bay  colt  might  have  in  him.  Nor  did  he 
slacken  pace  even  when  he  got  into  the  village  streets ;  but 
remembering  how  near  it  was  to  Jake's  time,  he  held  the 
horse  swiftly  on  till  he  reached  an  alley- way  behind  some 
village  stores.  Telling  Tucker  to  tie  the  horse,  he  got  over 
23 


266  THE  GRAY  SONS 

the  fence  and  laid  hold  of  a  rusty  crowbar  that  he  had  long 
kept  his  mind  fixed  on.  Putting  this  on  his  shoulder,  he 
was  soon  at  the  jail. 

"  Tom ! "  he  called,  in  a  smothered  voice,  at  the  grated 
window  on  the  east  side.  But  all  within  was  as  silent  as  it 
was  dark.  For  a  moment  Bob  stood  perplexed.  Then  he 
went  to  the  grating  at  the  back  of  the  jail  —  the  window 
that  opened  into  the  passage-way  at  the  end  opposite  to  the 
front  door. 

"Tom,  where  air  you?"  he  called,  putting  his  hands  up 
on  each  side  of  his  mouth,  that  his  words  might  not  be 
heard  in  the  street. 

"  In  the  dungeon."     Tom's  voice  sounded  remote. 

Bob  spent  no  time  in  deliberating,  but  thrust  the  crow 
bar  between  the  cross-bars  of  the  iron  grating.  His  first 
difficulty  was  similar  to  that  of  Archimedes,  he  could  not 
get  a  fulcrum  •  or,  as  he  expressed  it  less  elegantly  to  Zeke, 
"he  could  n't  git  no  purchase  onto  the  daudblasted  ole 
thing."  But  by  persistently  ramming  the  point  of  the 
crowbar  against  the  stone-work  at  the  side  of  the  window 
he  succeeded  at  length  in  picking  out  a  little  mortar  and 
bracing  the  tip  of  the  crowbar  against  a  projecting  stone. 
He  had  great  confidence  in  his  own  physical  strength,  but 
the  grating  at  first  was  too  much  for  him ;  the  wrought- 
iron  cross-bar  of  the  window  bent  under  the  strain  he  put 
upon  it,  but  it  would  not  loosen  its  hold  on  the  masonry. 
At  this  rate  it  would  take  more  time  than  he  could  hope  to 
have  to  push  the  bars  apart  enough  to  admit  even  Zeke's 


FIRST  COME,  FIRST  SERVED  267 

thin  frame,  and  he  could  not  hope  to  "bend  them  far  enough 
to  let  his  own  great  body  through.     He  therefore  changed 
his  mode  of  attack.     Withdrawing  his  crowbar  from  the 
grating,  he  felt  for  a  seam  in  the  stones  at  the  base  of  the 
window  and  then  drove  the  point  of  the  bar  into  this  over 
and  over  again,  aiming  as  well  as  he  could  in  the  dark  and 
taking  the  risk  of  attracting  the  attention  of  some  wakeful 
viUager  by  the  sound  of  his  ringing  blows.    At  length,  by 
drilling  and  prying,  he  had  loosened  the  large  stone  which 
was  in  some  sort  the  key  to  the  difficulty.     This   accom 
plished,  he  made  haste  to  insert  the  bar  again  into  the 
grating,  bracing  its  point  as  before  in  the  seam  he  had 
already  opened  in  the  stone- work  at  the  side  of  the  window. 
Then,  with  his  feet  against  the  wall  of  the  jail,  he  crouched 
his   great  frame  and  put  forth  the  whole  of  his  forces, 
thrusting  his  mighty  strength  against  the  crowbar,  as  blind 
Samson  in  his  agony  tugged  at  the  pillars  of  the  Philistine 
temple.     In  some  colossal  work  of  Michael  Angelo's  I  have 
seen  a  tremendous  figure  so  contorted,  writhing  in  supreme 
effort.     The  mortar  broke,  some  of  the  stones  gave  way  at 
length,  and  one  bar  of  the  grating  was  wrenched  reluctant 
from  its  anchorage  in  the  wall  below.     Then,  letting  the 
crowbar  fall,  Bob  seized  the  rod  now  loosened  at  one  end 
and  tore  it  quite  out,  and  then  threw  it  from  him  in  a  kind 
of  fury.    The  process  had  to  be  repeated  with  each  separate 
bar  in  the  grating,  though  the  breaking  up  of  the  wall 
about  the  window  made  each  rod  come  more  easily  than  the 
preceding  one.    When  all  had  been  removed  he  squeezed 


268  THE  GRAY  SONS 

through  the  window-opening,  feet  first,  and  felt  his  way 
down  the  passage  to  the  door  of  the  dungeon,  where  Tom 
was  anxiously  waiting  for  his  deliverer.  Bob  made  what  a 
surgeon  would  call  a  "  digital  examination  "  of  the  dungeon 
door,  and  found  its  strength  to  be  such  that  to  break  it 
down  would  require  the  rest  of  the  night,  if,  indeed,  there 
was  any  hope  of  achieving  it  at  all  in  a  dark  hallway,  too 
narrow  to  admit  of  a  free  use  of  the  crowbar. 

"  Dern  the  luck !  "  said  Bob,  pausing  a  moment. 

"  What  ?s  the  matter,  Bob  ?"  asked  Tom  anxiously. 

But  Bob  did  not  seem  to  hear  the  question.  "  We  must 
git  a  cole-chisel,"  was  all  he  said;  and  he  hastened  to  creep 
back  out  of  the  broken-up  window. 

"  Whach  yeh  go'n'  to  do  ? "  asked  the  waiting  Zeke,  as 
Bob  emerged. 

But  Bob  only  said,  "  Come  on,  quick  ! "  and  started  off  in 
a  swinging  trot  toward  the  village  blacksmith  shop,  a  low, 
longish,  wooden  building,  barely  visible  in  the  darkness. 
He  pulled  at  the  door,  but  it  was  firmly  closed  with  a  pad 
lock.  Then  he  felt  his  way  along  the  side  of  the  building 
to  a  window-sash,  which  was  easily  taken  out  of  its  place. 

"  Heap  uh  use  uh  lockin'  the  door,"  he  muttered,  as  he 
climbed  in.  "  Blow  up  the  belluses  there  un  see  ef  you  kin 
make  a  light." 

Zeke,  who  had  followed  his  leader,  pumped  away  on  the 
bellows  in  vain,  for  the  fire  in  the  forge  had  quite  gone  out, 
though  the  ashes  were  hot  to  Zeke's  touch.  Both  of  the 
men  set  to  work  to  find  a  blacksmith's  cold-chisel,  feeling 


FIRST  COME,  FIRST  SERVED  269 

and  fumbling  all  over  the  disorderly  shop.  As  it  often 
took  the  smith  half  an  hour  to  find  this  particular  tool,  it 
would  have  been  a  marvel  for  two  strangers  to  find  it  at 
all  in  the  darkness. 

"  We  '11  have  to  gin  up  the  conundrum/'  said  Bob,  with 
his  hands  again  in  his  pockets.  "Did  n7  you  say  as  you 
'lowed  the  sher'f  was  expectin'  Jake  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Zeke.  "Jake's  got  a  kind-uv  a  secret 
arrangement  weth  Plunkett's  brother-in-law.  They  hain't 
to  be  shooting-work  on  nary  side,  but  on'y  jist  a-plenty  uv 
thunderin'  loud  talk  fer  the  looks  uv  the  thing.  Jake's  to 
make  the  derndest  kind  uv  a  row,  un  the  sher'f 's  to  talk 
about  dyiii'  'n  'is  tracks  un  all  that,  you  know.  That  's 
some  weeks  ago  >t  the  shelf's  brother-in-law  fixed  all  that 
up,  un  Jake,  he  tole  us  they  would  n'  be  no  danger." 

"  Turn  your  coat  wrong  sides  out,"  said  Bob,  turning  his 
own.  "  Now  tie  your  han'kercher  acrost  yer  face,  so  's  to 
kiver  all  below  yer  eyes." 

When  these  directions  had  been  carried  out  Bob  climbed 
out  of  the  window,  and  stopped  to  put  his  hands  into  his 
pockets  again  and  consider. 

"  Whach  yeh  goV  to  do  ?"  asked  Zeke. 

But  Bob  only  asked,  "  What  '11  we  do  fer  pistols  ?  "  and 
with  that  set  himself  to  feeling  all  about  the  ground  in 
front  of  the  smith's  shop,  picking  up  and  rejecting  now  a 
bit  of  a  dead  bough  from  the  great  sycamore  under  the 
friendly  shade  of  which  the  smith  did  all  his  horse-shoeing, 
now  a  bit  of  a  board,  and  again  a  segment  of  a  broken 
23* 


270  THE  GRATSONS 

wagon-tire,  and  then  a  section  of  a  felloe.  At  last  Bob 
came  upon  the  broken  wheel  of  a  farmer's  wagon,  leaning 
against  the  side  of  the  shop  in  waiting  for  repairs  to  its 
wood-work  and  a  new  tire.  From  this  he  wrenched  two 
spokes  and  gave  one  of  them  to  Zeke. 

"  There  ?s  your  pistol,  Zeke.  Put  it  jam  up  agin  Plunk- 
ett's  head  un  tell  him  to  hole  still  ur  die.  We  've  got  to 
play  Jake  Hogan  onto  'im  un  git  the  keys.  Th?  ain't  nary 
nuther  way." 

As  Bob  passed  the  jail  in  going  toward  the  sheriff's  house 
he  took  along  the  crowbar.  Plunkett  lived  in  a  two-story 
frame  dwelling  on  the  eastern  margin  of  the  village.  Bob 
sent  Zeke  to  run  around  it  and  pound  on  the  back  door  and 
bang  on  every  window  with  his  wagon-spoke  and  his  fists, 
while  Bob  himself  dealt  rousing  blows  on  the  front  door 
with  his  crowbar.  When  Zeke  had  made  the  circuit  of  the 
house,  Bob  put  the  crowbar  under  the  door. 

"  We  must  n't  wait  fer  him  to  open,  he  '11  see  how  few  we 
air,"  he  whispered.  "  Prize  away  on  this  yer."  Then,  while 
Zeke  lifted  up  on  the  bar,  Bob  hurled  his  whole  bull  weight 
against  the  door.  The  staple  of  the  lock  held  fast,  but  the 
interior  facing  of  the  door- jamb  was  torn  from  its  fasten 
ings  and  fell  with  a  crash  on  the  floor,  letting  the  door 
swing  open.  Not  to  lose  the  advantage  of  surprise,  Bob 
and  Zeke  pushed  up  the  stairway,  guided  by  the  noise  made 
by  some  one  moving  about.  By  the  time  they  reached 
Plunkett's  sleeping-room  the  latter  had  struck  a  light  with 
steel  and  flint,  and  had  just  lighted  a  tallow-candle,  which 


FIRST  COME,  FIRST  SERVED  271 

was  beginning  to  shed  a  feeble  glimmer  on  the  bed,  the 
rag-carpeted  floor,  the  shuck-bottom  chairs,  and  the  half- 
dressed  man,  when  Bob,  coming  up  quickly  behind  him, 
blew  the  light  out,  and  seizing  Plunkett  with  the  grip  of  a 
bear  crowded  him  down  to  the  floor  with  a  smothered  oath. 

"  Don't  kill  me,  boys/7  said  the  sheriff  in  a  hoarse 
whisper;  for  this  rough  usage  frightened  him  a  little, 
notwithstanding  his  good  understanding  with  the  mob. 

"  Say  one  word  un  you  're  a  dead  man/'  said  Zeke  Tucker, 
pressing  the  cold  muzzle  of  his  wagon-spoke  close  to  the 
sheriffs  head.  These  melodramatic  words  were,  I  am  glad 
to  say,  a  mere  plagiarism.  In  the  absence  of  anything 
better,  Zeke  repeated  the  speech  of  a  highwayman  in  an 
old-fashioned  novel  he  had  heard  Mrs.  Britton  read  on 
Sunday  afternoons.  Then  he  added  on  his  own  account : 
"  We  won't  have  no  tricks ;  d'  yeh  h'yer  ? " 

"  They  's  mor*  'n  forty  uv  us/'  said  Bob,  "  un  we  want 
them  air  keys  right  straight." 

"  If  I  had  half  a  chance  1 7d  ruther  die  than  give  'em  up," 
—  this  was  all  that  Plunkett  could  remember  of  the  defiant 
speech  he  was  to  have  made  on  this  occasion, —  "but  there 
they  air,  at  the  head  of  my  bed  " ;  and  a  cold  shudder  went 
over  him  as  Zeke  again  touched  him  ominously  with  the 
end  of  the  wagon-spoke. 

The  sheriffs  wife,  though  she  had  every  assurance  of  the 
secret  friendliness  of  the  mob,  now  began  to  weep. 

lt  Not  a  word  !  w  said  Bob,  who  was  continually  scuffling 
his  feet,  in  order,  like  Hannibal  and  other  great  com- 


272  THE   GRATSONS 

manders,  to  make  his  forces  seem  more  numerous  than 
they  were.  "  We  won't  hurt  you,  Mrs.  Plunkett,  ef  you 
keep  still  j  but  ef  you  make  a  noise  while  we  're  gone,  the 
boys  outside  might  shoot." 

The  woman  became  silent.  ^ 

"  Some  of  our  men  '11  be  left  to  guard  your  house  till  our 
business  is  finished/'  said  Bob  to  the  sheriff,  who  lay  limp 
on  the  floor,  growing  internally  angry  that  the  Broad  Run 
boys  should  not  show  more  respect  for  his  dignity.  "  Don't 
you  move  or  make  any  soun',  f er  yer  life,"  added  Bob  when 
he  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs,  down  which  he  descended 
with  racket  enough  for  three  or  four. 

As  they  left  the  house  with  the  keys,  Bob  and  Zeke  gave 
orders  in  a  low  voice  to  an  imaginary  guard  at  the  door. 

All  that  Tom  had  made  out  was  that  the  irruption  of 
Bob  McCord  into  the  jail  signified  imminent  danger  to 
himself,  and  when  Bob  had  gone  out  again,  Tom's  heart 
failed  him.  He  stood  still,  with  his  fingers  on  the  iron  grat 
ing  in  the  dungeon  door.  For  this  last  night  the  sheriff 
had  taken  the  additional  precaution  of  leaving  Tom's 
manacles  on  when  he  had  locked  him  in  the  dungeon,  and 
the  lack  of  the  free  use  of  his  hands  added  much  to  his 
sense  of  utter  helplessness  in  the  face  of  deadly  peril.  He 
could  not  see  any  light  where  he  stood,  gripping  the  bars 
and  staring  into  the  passage-way ;  but  he  could  not  endure 
to  leave  this  position  and  go  back  into  the  darker  darkness 
behind  him.  Confinement  and  anxiety  had  sapped  the 
physical  groundwork  of  courage.  When  he  heard  Bob  and 


FIRST  COME,  FIRST  SERVED  273 

Zeke  come  past  the  jail  on  their  return  from  the  black 
smith  shop  he  had  made  out  nothing  but  the  sound  of  feet, 
whether  of  friends  or  foes  he  did  not  know ;  and  when  the 
sounds  died  away,  a  horror  of  deadly  suspense  fell  upon 
nim.  All  black  and  repulsive  possibilities  became  immi 
nent  probabilities  in  the  time  that  he  waited.  Over  and 
over  again  he  heard  men  and  horses  coming,  and  then 
discovered  that  he  was  hearkening  to  the  throbbing  of  his 
own  pulse.  At  last  he  heard  the  key  turning  in  the  lock  of 
the  front  door,  and  was  sure  that  the  enemy  had  arrived. 
It  was  not  till  Bob  said,  when  he  had  got  into  the  hall  and 
was  trying  the  keys  in  the  dungeon  door,  "  Quick,  Tom,  fer 
God  A'mighty's  sake ! "  that  his  spirit,  numb  with  terror, 
realized  the  presence  of  friends. 

"What 's  the  matter? "  asked  Tom,  his  teeth  chattering 
with  reaction  from  the  long  suspense. 

"  Jake  Hogan  '11  be  h-yer  in  less  ?n  no  time  " ;  and  with 
that  Bob,  having  got  the  door  open,  almost  dragged  the 
poor  fellow  out,  taking  time,  however,  to  shut  the  front  door 
and  lock  it,  and  taking  the  keys  with  him,  "  fer  fear  some 
body  might  git  in  while  we  're  away/'  as  he  said  laughing. 

Once  the  jail  was  cleared,  a  new  perplexity  arose.  Until 
this  moment  it  had  not  occurred  to  Bob  to  consider  what 
disposal  he  should  make  of  the  prisoner. 

"  What  am  I  goin'  to  do  weth  you,  Tom  ?  "  he  demanded, 
when  they  stood  concealed  in  the  thick  obscurity  under  an 
elm-tree  on  the  side  of  the  court-house  opposite  to  the  jail. 
"  I  wonder  'f  you  had  n'  better  light  out  I  " 


274  THE  GRATSONS 

"Not  without  Abra'm  says  so,"  answered  Tom,  still 
shivering  and  feeling  a  strong  impulse  to  run  away  in  the 
face  of  all  prudence. 

"Looky  h-yer,  Tom;  when  I  got  the  keys  from  the 
sher'f,  I  brought  them  all  along.  They  's  the  big  key  to  the 
jail,  un  the  key  to  the  dungeon.  Now,  h-yer,  I  've  got  two 
more.  It  seems  like  as  ef  one  uv  'em  had  orter  onlock  the 
east  room  of  the  jail,  un  liker  'n  not  t'  other's  the  court 
house  key.  S'pose  'n  I  put  you  in  there ;  they  '11  never  look 
there  in  the  worlV 

"  I  s'pose  so,"  said  Tom,  "  if  you  think  it 's  safe."  But  in 
his  present  state  he  shuddered  at  the  idea  of  being  left 
alone  in  the  dark.  "  If  Abra'm  thinks  I  'd  better  not  clear 
out,  I  'llbe  where  I  'm  wanted  in  the  morning,  and  they 
can't  say  I  have  run  off,"  he  added. 

So  Tom  was  locked  in  the  court-house  and  left  to  feel  his 
way  about  in  the  dark.  He  found,  at  length,  the  judge's 
bench,  the  only  one  with  a  cushion  on  it,  and  lay  down 
there  to  wait  for  daylight,  listening  with  painful  attention 
to  every  sound  in  the  streets.  When  at  length  he  heard  the 
tramp  of  horses  and  conjectured  that  Jake's  party  were 
actually  looking  for  him,  he  could  not  overcome  the  unrea 
sonable  terror  that  weakness  and  suspense  had  brought 
upon  him.  He  groped  his  way  up  the  stairs  and  slunk  into 
one  of  the  jury  rooms  above  for  greater  security. 


XXV 

LIKE  A  WOLF  ON  THE  FOLD 

1ARBARA,  at  her  uncle's  house,  had  not  been 
able  to  go  to  bed.  Tom's  fate,  she  knew, 
would  be  decided  the  next  day,  and  whatever 
of  hope  there  might  be  for  him  was  hidden  in 
the  mind  of  his  lawyer.  Mrs.  Grayson  had  involuntarily 
fallen  into  a  slumber,  and  the  anxious  Barbara  sat  by  her 
in  the  darkness,  wishing  for  the  coming  of  the  day,  whose 
coming  was  nevertheless  dreadful  to  her.  The  sound  of  a 
wagon  rattling  in  another  street  startled  her  ;  she  went  to 
the  window  and  strained  her  eyes  against  the  darkness 
outside  of  the  glass.  Though  she  could  not  suspect  that  in 
the  wagon  was  Bob  McCord  hurrying  to  the  rescue  of  Tom, 
she  was  yet  full  of  vague  and  indistinct  forebodings.  She 
wished  she  might  have  passed  the  night  in  the  jail.  A  little 
after  midnight  she  thought  she  heard  a  sound  as  of  horses7 
feet :  again  she  went  to  the  window,  but  she  could  not  see 
or  hear  anything.  Then  again  she  heard  it :  there  could  be 
no  mistake  now ;  she  could  make  out  plainly  the  confused 
thudding  of  many  hoofs  on  the  unpaved  road.  Presently, 

275 


276  THE  GRATSONS 

from  sound  rather  than  from  sight,  she  knew  that  a  con 
siderable  troop  of  horsemen  were  passing  in  front  of  her 
uncle's  house.  She  left  the  room  quietly,  and  spoke  to  her 
uncle  as  she  passed  his  door;  but  without  waiting  for  him 
she  went  out  into  the  street  and  ran  a  little  way  after  the 
horsemen,  stopping,  hearkening,  turning  this  way  and  that 
in  her  indecision,  and  at  length,  after  groping  among  the 
trees  and  stumps  in  the  public  square,  reached  the  jail. 

Jake  Hogan  had  sent  forward  two  men  to  watch  the 
prison,  while  he  with  his  main  force  surrounded  Plunkett's 
house.  The  sheriff  had  obediently  kept  his  place  where 
Bob  had  laid  him,  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  until  he  got 
into  a  chill.  Then,  as  he  heard  no  sound  outside  of  the 
house,  his  courage  revived,  and  he  crept  back  into  bed. 

Jake  had  come  prepared  to  play  the  bully,  according  to 
agreement,  in  order  to  save  Plunkett's  reputation  for 
courage  and  fidelity,  but  he  was  disconcerted  at  finding 
the  door  of  the  house  wide  open ;  he  had  not  expected  that 
things  would  be  made  so  easy.  After  stumbling  over  the 
fallen  door-facing,  he  boldly  mounted  the  stairs  with  as 
much  noise  as  possible.  Entering  Plunkett's  bedroom,  he 
cried  out  in  what  he  conceived  to  be  his  most  impressive 
tones : 

"  Gin  up  the  keys  of  that  ar  jail,  ur  your  time  has  come." 

"  What  air  you  up  to  now  ? v  cried  the  sheriff,  angry  at 
this  second  visit.  "You  knocked  me  down  and  got  the 
keys  nigh  on  to  an  hour  ago.  Now  what  in  thunderation 
does  this  hullabaloo  mean,  I  want  to  know." 


LIKE  A  WOLF  ON  THE  FOLD  277 

"  Wha'  choo  talkin'  ? "  said  Jake.  "  We  hain't  on'y  jest 
got  yer." 

"  Only  just  got  here  ?  "  said  the  sheriff,  rising  up  in  bed. 
"Only  just  come?  Then  there  's  another  crowd  that  must 
>a'  done  the  business  ahead  of  you.  There  was  more  'n 
forty  men  surrounded  this  house  awhile  ago,  and  beat  down 
my  door,  and  come  upstairs  here  in  this  room,  and  knocked 
me  down  and  choked  me  black  and  blue  and  went  off  with 
the  keys.  I  guess  they  've  hung  Tom  and  gone  before  this." 

"Looky  h-yer  now,  we  don't  want  no  more  uv  your 
tricks.  We  're  the  on'y  party  out  to-night,  sartin  shore,  un 
we  're  boun'  to  have  them  air  keys  ur  die,"  said  Jake,  trag 
ically.  "  You  might 's  well  gin  'em  up  fust  as  last,  Hank 
Plunkett,  un  save  yourself  trouble." 

"  Well,  if  you  want  'em,  you  '11  have  to  look  'em  up," 
said  the  sheriff.  "  I  have  n't  got  'em,  and  I  '11  be  hanged  if 
I  know  who  has.  I  was  knocked  down  and  nearly  killed 
by  a  whole  lot  of  men.  Kill  me,  if  you  've  got  a  mind  to, 
but  you  won't  find  the  keys  in  this  house.  So  there  now." 
And  he  lay  back  on  his  pillow. 

"  Come  on,  boys ;  we  '11  s'arch  the  jail.  Un  ef  we  've 
been  fooled  weth,  Hank  Plunkett  '11  have  to  pay  f er  it." 

With  that  the  Broad  Run  boys  departed  and  the  sheriff 
got  up  and  dressed  himself.  There  was  a  mystery  about 
two  lynching  parties  in  one  night;  and  there  might  be 
something  in  it  that  would  affect  his  bond  or  his  political 
prospects  if  it  were  not  looked  into  at  once.  He  resolved 
to  alarm  the  town. 
24 


278  THE  GEATSONS 

At  the  jail  door  Hogan  encountered  Barbara  piteously 
begging  the  men  to  spare  her  brother's  life. 

"Looky  h-yer,"  he  said,  in  a  graveyard  voice,  "  this  ain't 
no  kind  uv  a  place  fer  women  folks.  Yon  go  'way." 

"  No,  I  won't  go  away.  I  'm  Tom's  sister  and  I  won't 
leave  him.  You  must  n't  shoot  him.  He  did  n't  kill  George 
Lockwood." 

"  You  mus'  go  'way,  ur  you  '11  git  shot  yer  own  self," 
said  Jake. 

"Well,  shoot  me —  d'  you  think  I  care?  I  'd  rather  die 
with  Tom.  I  know  your  voice,  Jake  Hogan  5  and  if  you 
kill  Tom  you  '11  be  a  murderer,  for  he  is  n't." 

"  Take  her  away,  boys,"  said  Jake,  a  little  shaken  by  this 
unexpected  appeal.  But  nobody  offered  to  remove  Bar 
bara.  All  of  these  rude  fellows  were  touched  at  sight  of 
her  tears.  It  had  not  occurred  to  them  to  take  into  account 
the  sister  or  the  mother  when  they  thoughtlessly  resolved 
to  hang  Tom.  But  the  path  of  the  reformer  is  always 
beset  by  such  thorns. 

"  Down  weth  that  ar  door !"  cried  Jake,  not  to  be  baffled 
in  his  resolution,  and  convinced  by  Barbara's  solicitude  that 
Tom  was  certainly  within.  There  was  reason  for  haste  too, 
for  the  villagers  were  already  stirring,  and  there  might  be 
opposition  to  his  summary  proceedings.  But  pompous 
commands  have  not  much  effect  on  heavy  doors,  and  Jake 
found  that  this  one  would  not  down  so  easily  as  he  hoped. 
Jake  began  pounding  on  it  with  the  poll  of  an  ax  borrowed 
from  a  neighboring  wood-pile,  and  meanwhile  dispatched 


LIKE  A  WOLF  ON  THE  FOLD  279 

two  men  to  break  open  the  blacksmith  shop  and  fetch  a 
sledge-hammer.  But  S'manthy's  boy,  on  his  own  motion, 
went  around  to  the  back  of  the  jail  with  the  purpose  of 
trying  the  window.  Finding  it  as  Bob  had  left  it,  with  the 
grating  torn  out,  he  entered  the  jail  and  penetrated  to  the 
dungeon,  coming  back  presently  to  tell  Jake  that  he  had 
found  the  window  out,  the  dungeon  door  open,  and  Tom 
"  clean  gone." 

"  Thunder  !  "  said  Jake,  dropping  his  ax.     "  Who  could 
they  be  ?     The  shuruff  says  they  wuz  more  'n  forty  on  'em  ; 
so  they  could  n't  be  rescuers.     They  hain't  ten  men  in  the 
wide  worP  'at  thinks  Tom  's  innercent.     Like  's  not  it  ?s  a 
lot  uv  fellers  f  urn  the  south-east  of  the  k-younty,  down 
towards    Hardscrabble,   whar    Lockwood   had  some  kin. 
They  've  hung  him  summers.     Let 's  ride  'roun'  un  see  ef 
we  kin  fin'  any  traces.     Un  ef  Hank  Plunkett  has  played  a 
trick,  we  '11  git  squar'  some  day,  ur  my  name  hain't  Hogan." 
The  men  mounted  and  rode  off.     Barbara,  who  stood  by 
in  agony  while  Jake  beat  upon  the  door,  and  who  had  heard 
the  report  that  Tom  was  gone,  could  not  resist  the  despair 
ing  conclusion  that  he  must  have  suffered  death.    In  her 
broken-hearted  perplexity  she  could  think  of  nothing  better 
than  to  hurry  to  the  tavern  where  Hiram  Mason  was  a 
boarder.    Half  the  people  of  the  village  were  by  this  time 
in  the  streets,  running  here  and  there  and  saying  the  most 
contradict ory  things.     Mason  had  been  awakened  with  the 
rest,  and  by  the  time  Barbara  reached  the  tavern  door,  she 
encountered  him  coining  out. 


280  THE  GRAYSONS 

"  W'y,  Barbara !  for  goodness'  sake,  what  brought  you 
out  ?  What  has  happened  ? "  he  said. 

"  O  Mr.  Mason  !  I  >m  afraid  Tom  >s  dead.  I  ran  after 
Jake  Hogan  and  his  men  when  I  heard  them  pass,  and 
begged  Jake  to  let  Tom  off.  They  tried  to  drive  me  away, 
but  I  staid ;  and  when  they  got  into  jail,  Tom  was  n't 
there.  Jake  said  that  the  sheriff  said  he  had  been  taken 
away  and  lynched  by  more  than  forty  men.  Oh,  if  they 
have  killed  the  poor  boy !  " 

"Maybe  it  is  n't  so  bad/'  said  Hiram,  as  he  took  her  left 
hand  in  his  right  and  led  her,  as  he  might  have  led  a  weep 
ing  child,  along  the  dark  street  toward  her  uncle's  house. 
"  Don't  cry  any  more,  Barbara !  " 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  he  said,  after  a  while,  "if  Bob 
McCord  knows  something  of  this." 

"  But  we  left  him  at  home  to-night,"  said  Barbara ;  and 
then  she  began  to  weep  again,  and  to  say  over  and  over  in 
an  undertone,  "  O  my  poor  Tom  !" 

Mason  could  not  say  any  more.  He  only  grasped  her 
hand  the  more  firmly  in  his  and  walked  on.  Presently  a 
wagon  came  across  the  walk  just  in  front  of  them,  issuing 
from  an  alley. 

"That  's  Butts's  wagon,  and  that  's  his  bay  colt,  I  do 
believe,"  said  Barbara,  looking  sharply  at  the  dark  silhou 
ette  of  the  horse.  "  I  know  the  way  that  horse  carries  his 
head.  I  wonder  if  Butts  has  been  mean  enough  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  this  wicked  business." 

What  Barbara  saw  was  Zeke  Tucker  hastening  to  replace 


LIKE  A  WOLF  ON  THE  FOLD  281 

the  horse  in  the  stable,  while  Bob  remained  in  town  to  keep 
a  furtive  watch  over  the  court-house  till  morning.  Mason 
thought  he  saw  some  one  moving  in  the  alley,  and  a  detect 
ive  impulse  seized  him. 

"*Stay  here  a  moment,  Barbara,"  he  said,  and  letting  go 
of  her  hand  he  ran  into  the  alley  and  came  plump  upon  the 
burly  form  of  Bob  McCord. 

"It 's  all  right,  Mr.  Mason,"  chuckled  Bob.  "  Tom  >s  safe 
?n'  soun'  where  they  '11  never  find  him.  By  thunder ! " 
And  Bob  looked  ready  to  explode  with  laughter ;  the  whole 
thing  was  to  him  one  of  the  best  of  jokes. 

"  Come  and  tell  Barbara,"  said  Mason. 

Bob  came  out  of  the  alley  to  where  Barbara  was  standing 
near  the  white-spotted  trunk  of  a  young  sycamore,  and 
recounted  briefly  how  he  had  fooled  Butts,  and  how  he  had 
got  the  keys  from  Plunkett.  His  resonant  laughter  grated 
on  Barbara's  feelings,  but  she  was  too  grateful  to  him  to 
resent  the  rudeness  of  his  nature. 

"  Where  is  Tom  ?  "  Barbara  asked. 

"  Oh  !  P  m  a-playin'  Abe  Lincoln,"  said  Bob  in  a  whisper. 
"  The  fewer  that  knows,  the  better  it  '11  be.  Tom  says  he 
won't  light  out,  unless  Abra'm  says  to.  SpeakV  of  Abe 
Lincoln,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  want  to  be  seed  weth  him  to 
night.  You  go  back,  Mr.  Mason,  un  tell  Abe  't  Tom  's  safe. 
Ef  he  thinks  Tom's  chances  is  better  to  stan'  trial,  w'y,  he  '11 
find  7im  in  the  court-house  to-morry  when  the  court  wants 
'im,  shore  as  shootin'.  He  's  on'y  out  on  bail  to-night," 
said  Bob,  unwilling  to  lose  his  joke.  "  But  ef  Abe  thinks 
24* 


282  THE  GEAYSONS 

Tom  hain't  got  no  chance  afore  a  jury,  let  'im  jest  wink  one 
eye,  kind-uh,  un  'fore  daybreak  I  '11  have  the  boy  tucked 
into  a  bear's  hole  't  I  know  of,  un  he  kin  lay  there  safe  fer 
a  week  un  then  put  out  for  Wisconsin,  ur  Missouri,  ur  the 
loway  country.  You  go  V  let  Abe  know,  un  I  '11  see 
Barb'ry  safe  home  —  she  won't  gimme  the  mitten  to-night, 
I  low."  And  Bob  chuckled  heartily;  life  was  all  so  droll 
to  this  man,  blessed  with  a  perfect  digestion  and  not 
worried  by  any  considerable  sense  of  responsibility. 

Mason  went  up  to  Lincoln's  room  and  awakened  him  to 
tell  him  the  story  of  the  night.  The  lawyer's  face  relaxed, 
and  at  length  he  broke  into  a  merry  but  restrained  laughter. 
He  saw  almost  as  much  fun  in  it  as  Bob  McCord  had,  and 
Mason  felt  a  little  out  of  patience  that  he  should  be  so  much 
amused  over  such  a  life-and-death  affair. 

"  Tom  does  n't  want  to  be  an  outlaw,"  said  Lincoln  very 
gravely,  when  the  question  of  Tom's  going  or  staying  was 
put  to  him.  "I  don't  believe  he  could  escape;  and  if  he 
did,  life  would  hardly  be  worth  the  having.  There  is  only 
just  one  chance  of  proving  his  innocence,  but  I  think  he  'd 
better  stay  and  take  that.  Maybe  we  '11  fail ;  if  we  do,  it 
may  yet  be  time  enough  to  fall  back  on  Bob  and  his  bear's 
hole.  By  the  way,  where  has  Bob  stowed  Tom  for  the 
night?" 

"  Bob  won't  tell,"  said  Mason.  "  He  says  he  's  playing 
Abe  Lincoln  j  and  the  fewer  that  know,  the  better." 

Lincoln  laughed  again,  and  nodded  his  head  approvingly. 
"  So  he  brings  Tom  to  court  in  good  time,"  he  said. 


LIKE  A  WOLF  ON  THE  FOLD  283 

Mason  went  out  and  encountered  Bob  in  the  street,  and 
gave  him  Lincoln's  decision.  Then  Hiram  went  and  told 
Barbara  about  it,  and  sat  with  her  and  her  mother  until 
morning.  A  while  before  daybreak,  finding  the  town  free 
from  any  person  disposed  to  molest  Tom,  Bob  came  to 
Barbara  and  had  her  make  a  cup  of  coffee  and  give  him  a 
sandwich  or  two.  These  he  took  out  of  the  back  gate  of 
the  Grayson  garden  and  left  them  with  Tom  in  the  court 
house. 

The  next  morning  at  half -past  G  o'clock  the  lawyers  of 
the  circuit  took  their  seats  at  the  breakfast-table  in  the 
meagerly  furnished,  fly-specked  dining-room  of  the  tavern, 
the  windows  of  which  were  decorated  with  limp  chintz  cur 
tains,  and  the  space  of  which  was  entirely  filled  with  the 
odors  of  coffee  and  fried  ham,  mingled  with  smells  emitted 
by  the  rough-coat  plastering  and  the  poplar  of  the  wood 
work  :  this  compound  odor  of  the  building  was  a  genius  of 
the  place.  The  old  judge,  who  sat  at  the  end  of  the  table 
opposite  to  that  occupied  by  the  landlady,  spread  his  red 
silk  handkerchief  across  his  lap  preparatory  to  beginning 
his  meal,  and  looked  up  from  under  his  overhanging  brows 
at  Lincoln,  who  was  just  taking  his  seat. 

"  What 's  this,  Lincoln  I  I  hear  your  client  was  carried 
off  last  night  by  a  mob  of  forty  or  fifty  men  and  probably 
hanged.  And  you  don't  even  get  up  early  to  see  about  it." 

"  My  client  will  be  in  court  this  morning,  Judge,"  said 
the  lawyer,  looking  up  from  his  plate. 

"What!" 


284  THE   GRAY  SONS 

"  I  am  informed  that  he  is  in  a  safe  place,  and  he  will  be 
ready  for  trial  this  morning.7' 

"  Where  is  he  ? "  asked  the  judge,  looking  penetratingly 
at  Lincoln. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  tell  your  Honor ;  but  the  fact  is,  I 
can't  manage  to  find  out  myself." 

Then  one  of  the  other  lawyers  spoke  up.  "  Lincoln,  from 
what  you  say,  I  suppose  the  first  mob  took  Grayson  to  save 
him  from  the  second.  But  I  don't  see  how  the  Old  Boy 
you  raised  forty  men  on  your  side.  I  would  n't  have 
believed  that  the  poor  devil  had  so  many  friends." 

u  I  ?  I  did  n't  raise  any  men.  I  was  sound  asleep,  and 
did  n't  know  a  word  about  it  until  the  row  was  all  over." 

After  breakfast  there  was  much  discussion  of  the  case 
among  the  lawyers  standing  in  a  group  in  the  bar-room. 
What  would  Lincoln  do !  Why  had  he  not  moved  for  a 
change  of  venue  ?  Why  had  he  subpoenaed  no  witnesses  ? 
Would  he  plead  necessary  self-defense,  or  would  Tom 
plead  guilty  and  throw  himself  on  the  mercy  of  the  gov 
ernor  ? 

The  sheriff  was  very  active  in  the  latter  part  of  the  night 
in  telling  his  story  and  in  making  a  display  of  zeal.  It 
was  he  who  had  taken  time  by  the  forelock  in  telling  the 
judge  all  about  the  events  of  the  night;  how  his  door  had 
been  beaten  in  by  a  great  mob ;  how  he  had  been  rudely 
knocked  down  and  choked  until  he  was  almost  insensible  j 
and  how  pistols  had  been  cocked  and  placed  against  his 
head.  Then  he  told  of  the  coming  of  the  second  mob.  He 
did  not  know  which  way  Tom  had  been  taken,  or  whether 


LIKE  A  WOLF  ON  THE  FOLD  285 

lie  had  been  hanged  or  not,  but  he  had  sent  the  deputy  to 
make  inquiries. 

In  making  an  examination  of  the  prison  after  daylight, 
Sheriff  Plunkett  found  the  keys  of  the  jail  inside  of  the 
hallway,  as  though  they  had  been  thrown  in  at  the  broken- 
down  window.  When  he  went  to  force  the  court-house 
door,  the  key  belonging  to  it  was  found  lying  on  the  door 
step  ;  and  when  on  opening  the  door  he  saw  Tom  with  his 
manacles  on,  awaiting  him,  his  surprise  was  complete. 

"  I  thought  you  ?d  been  hung,"  he  said. 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Tom,  grimly. 

"  Say,  where  did  that  mob  come  from  that  got  you  out  ?" 

"  You  can't  question  me,"  said  Tom.  "  I  ?m  not  a  witness 
to-day ;  I  'm  a  prisoner:" 

Many  of  the  excited  people,  moved  by  the  restive  long 
ings  of  a  vague  curiosity,  had  followed  the  sheriff  into  the 
court-room,  and  the  news  of  Tom's  presence  there  soon 
spread  throughout  the  village.  There  were  already  all 
sorts  of  contradictory  and  exciting  rumors  in  the  streets 
about  the  events  of  the  preceding  night ;  women  let  their 
breakfast  coffee  boil  over  while  they  discussed  the  affair 
across  back  fences;  men  almost  forgot  to  eat  anything  in 
their  eagerness  for  news ;  country  people  were  flocking  in 
by  all  the  roads  and  listening  to  all  sorts  of  contradictory 
tales  told  by  the  villagers.  When  it  became  known  that 
Tom  was  alive  and  awaiting  his  trial  there  was  a  general 
rush  to  secure  seats,  and  the  court-room  was  filled  long 
before  the  bell  in  its  belfry  had  announced  the  hour  for  the 
trial  to  begin. 


XXVI 

CIRCUMSTANTIAL  EVIDENCE 

T  last  the  sheriffs  new  deputy  went  up  the 
court-house  stairs,  and  pulled  away  on  the 
rope  that  rattled  the  bell  in  the  belfry  — a 

bell  that  uttered  its  notes  in  irregular  groups, 

now  pausing  for  breath,  and  now  sending  one  hurried 
stroke  clattering  hard  on  the  heels  of  another.  Its  clank 
ing  had  no  more  dignity  than  the  words  of  a  gossip  eagerly 
tattling  small  news.  While  the  bell  was  yet  banging, 
Judge  Watkins's  iron-gray  head  and  stooped  shoulders 
appeared ;  he  pushed  his  way  slowly  through  the  press,  his 
brows  contracted  in  impatience  at  finding  even  the  physical 
progress  of  the  court  obstructed  by  the  vulgar.  The  peo 
ple  squeezed  themselves  as  nearly  flat  as  possible  in  the 
endeavor  to  make  way  for  his  'Honor,  of  whom  they  were 
as  much  in  awe  as  school-boys  of  a  stern  master.  Bob 
McCord,  erect  in  the  aisle,  was  an  island  in  the  very  chan 
nel,  and  the  most  serious  obstacle  to  the  judge's  passage ; 
nor  did  it  help  things  for  Bob  to  turn  sidewise,  for  he  was 
equally  obtrusive  in  all  his  dimensions.  The  judge  was  a 
good  deal  ruffled  in  his  endeavors  to  pull  by  him. 


280 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL  EVIDENCE  287 

"  I  wish  I  w uz  littler,  Jedge,"  said  Bob,  with  a  fearless 
laugh  that  startled  the  bystanders,  "  but  I  can't  seem  to 
take  myself  in  another  eench." 

The  dyspeptic  judge  was  not  without  a  sense  of  humor. 
It  would  be  a  derogation  from  his  dignity  to  say  that  he 
smiled  at  Bob's  apology;  but  certainly  there  was  a  little 
relaxation  of  his  brows,  and  a  less  severe  set  to  his  lips, 
when  he  finally  edged  past  and  left  the  crowd  to  close 
around  Big  Bob  again. 

The  judge  began  the  session  by  ordering  the  sheriff  to 
bring  in  the  grand  jury.  This  in  turn  was  no  easy  task ; 
but  at  length  that  body  succeeded  in  descending  the  stairs, 
defiling  through  the  aisle,  and  getting  into  the  jury  box. 
In  a  few  words,  precise  and  tart,  the  judge  charged  the 
grand  jurymen  to  inquire  into  two  lawless  attacks  which 
had  been  made  on  the  sheriff  during  the  night;  into  the 
conduct  of  the  sheriff  j  and  into  the  evidently  insecure  con 
dition  of  the  county  jail.  Then,  when  the  members  of  the 
grand  inquest  had  reluctantly  made  their  painful  way  up 
the  stairs  to  their  room  overhead,  the  judge  called  the  case 
of  The  People  of  the  State  of  Illinois  versus  Thomas  Grayson, 
Junior,  and  there  was  a  hush  in  the  crowded  court-room. 

Tom  sat  regarding  the  crowd  with  such  feelings  as  a 
gladiator  doomed  to  mortal  combat  might  have  had  in 
looking  on  the  curious  spectators  in  the  Coliseum.  Mrs. 
Grayson  and  Barbara  had  been  provided  with  chairs  within 
the  bar ;  but  on  his  mother  and  sister  Tom  did  not  dare  to 
let  his  eyes  rest.  He  saw,  however,  without  looking  directly 


THE  GRAY  SONS 

at  them,  that  little  Janet  was  standing  by  Barbara,  and 
that  his  uncle  sat  with  crestfallen  face  by  his  mother's  side, 
and  that  his  Aunt  Charlotte  had  not  come  at  all.    Just  out 
side  of  the  bar,  but  immediately  behind  Mrs.  Grayson,  so 
as  to  form  one  of  the  group,  stood  Hiram  Mason,  erect  and 
unblushing.     One  of  the  landmarks  on  which  Tom's  gaze 
rested  of tenest  was  the  burly  form  and  round,  ruddy  face  of 
Big  Bob  McCord,  half  way  between  the  judge  and  the  door. 
And  at  one  of  the  open  windows  there  presently  appeared 
the  lank  countenance  of  Jake  Hogan,  who  had  climbed  up 
from  the  outside,  with  the  notion  that  he  was  somehow 
bound  to  supervise  the  administration  of  public  justice. 
He  managed  with  difficulty  to  get  perching-room  on  the 
window-sill.    Into  two  of  the  raised  back  seats  a  group  of 
women  had  squeezed  themselves  to  their  last  density,  and 
among  them,  singular  and  conspicuous  as  she  always  was, 
sat  Rachel  Albaugh.     Tom's  was  not  the  only  eye  that 
observed  her ;  the  lawyers  from  other  counties  were  asking 
one  another  who  she  was,  and  she  had  even  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  judge  himself;  for  a  gallant  interest  in 
good-looking  women  lingers  late  in  a  Virginia  gentleman, 
no  matter  how  austere  his  mold.    At  a  pause  in  the  prelim 
inary  proceedings  the  judge  spoke  to  the  clerk,  sitting  just 
below  and  in  front  of  him,  at  a  raised  desk. 

"  Magill,  who  is  that  girl  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Which  one,  Judge  ? "  queried  Magill,  pretending  to  be 
in  doubt. 

"  You  need  n't  look  so  innocent.     Of  course  I  mean  the 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL  EVIDENCE  289 

one  a  modest  man  can't  look  at  without  being  a  little 
ashamed  of  himself.  You  know  her  well  enough,  I  'm  sure." 

"  I  s'pose  yer  Honor  manes  John  Albaugh's  daughter," 
said  Magill.  u  She  's  the  one  that 's  at  the  bottom  of  all 
this  row,  they  say." 

As  soon  as  the  judge  heard  that  Rachel's  beauty  had 
something  to  do  with  the  case  in  hand  he  fell  back  into  his 
official  reserve,  as  though  he  felt  a  scruple  that  to  talk  about 
her,  or  even  to  ta"ke  note  of  her  beauty,  might  be,  in  some 
sort,  a  receiving  of  evidence  not  properly  before  the  court. 

The  jury  was  very  soon  impaneled,  for  in  that  day  entire 
ignorance  of  the  matter  in  hand  was  not  thought  indispen 
sable  to  a  wise  decision.  Lincoln  made  no  objection  to  any 
of  the  names  drawn  for  jurymen  except  that  of  Abijah 
Grimes,  of  Broad  Run  Township.  The  exclusion  of  Bijy's 
open  countenance  from  the  jury  box  was  another  blow  to 
Jake  Hogan's  faith  in  the  institutions  of  the  land.  His  brow 
visibly  darkened ;  here  was  one  more  sign  that  a  rich  man's 
nephew  could  not  be  punished,  and  that  a  poor  man  hadn't 
no  kind  uv  a  chance  in  sech  a  dodrotted  country.  No  time 
was  spent  in  an  opening  speech ;  the  preliminary  oratory, 
by  which  our  metropolitan  barristers  consume  the  time  of 
an  indulgent  court  and  make  a  show  of  earning  their  pre 
posterous  fees,  was  rarely  indulged  in  that  simpler  land  and 
time.  The  fees  paid,  indeed,  would  not  have  justified  the 
making  of  two  speeches. 

No  portion  of  the  crowd  tucked  into  the  four  walls  of  the 
Moscow  court-house  showed  more  interest  in  the  trial  than 
25 


290  THE  GRAY  SONS 

the  members  of  the  bar.  The  unsolved  mystery  that  hung 
about  Lincoln's  line  of  defense,  the  absence  of  any  witnesses 
in  Tom's  behalf,  the  neglect  of  all  the  ordinary  precautions, 
such  as  the  seeking  of  a  change  of  venue,  produced  a  kind 
of  flurry  of  expectation  inside  of  the  bar  ;  and  the  lawyers 
in  their  blue  sparrow-tail  coats  with  brass  buttons,  which 
constituted  then  a  kind  of  professional  uniform,  moved 
about  with  as  much  animation  as  uneasy  jay-birds,  to  which 
the  general  effect  of  their  costume  gave  them  a  sort  of 
family  likeness.  Their  attention  was  divided,  it  is  true; 
for  when  a  member  of  the  bar  did  succeed  in  settling  him 
self  into  a  chair,  which  he  always  canted  back  on  its  hind 
legs,  he  was  pretty  sure  to  get  into  a  position  that  would 
enable  him  to  get  a  glance  now  and  then  at  the  face  of 
Rachel  Albaugh,  who  was  interesting,  not  only  for  her 
beauty,  but  on  account  of  her  supposed  relation  to  the  case 
actually  before  the  court.  Never  had  Rachel's  lustrous  eyes 
seemed  finer,  never  had  her  marvelous  complexion  shown  a 
tint  more  delicious ;  her  interest  in  the  case  lent  animation 
to  her  expression,  and  her  attitude  of  listening  set  off  the 
graceful  turn  of  her  features. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  called  Henry  Miller  to  prove 
that  Tom  had  been  irritated  with  Lockwood  at  Albaugh's, 
but  Henry  did  what  he  could  for  Tom,  by  insisting  that  it 
did  n't  "  amount  to  anything "  as  a  quarrel ;  it  was  "  only  a 
huff,"  he  said.  The  next  witness  called  was  the  nervous 
young  man  who  had  stood  balancing  himself  on  the  thresh 
old  of  Wooden  &  Snyder's  store  when  Tom  had  threatened 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL  EVIDENCE  291 

Lockwood,  in  paying  back  the  money  borrowed  to  discharge 
his  gambling  debt.  He  was  a  habitual  gossip,  and  the  story 
lost  nothing  from  his  telling.  He  did  not  forget  to  men 
tion  with  evident  pleasure  that  Rachel  Albaugh's  name  had 
been  used  in  that  quarrel.  At  this  point  Rachel,  finding 
too  many  eyes  turned  from  the  witness  to  the  high  seat  at 
the  back  of  the  room,  lowered  her  green  veil. 

Then  the  carpenter  who  had  bought  a  three-cornered  file 
on  the  morning  of  Tom's  outburst  against  Lockwood  also 
swore  to  the  details  of  that  affair  as  he  remembered  them, 
and  the  villager  who  had  come  in  to  buy  nails  to  repair  his 
garden  fence  gave  a  third  version  of  the  quarrel;  but 
Snyder,  the  junior  proprietor  of  the  store,  told  the  incident 
as  it  was  colored  by  his  partisanship  for  Lockwood  and  in 
a  way  the  most  damaging  to  Tom.  He  swore  that  Lock- 
wood  was  really  afraid  of  Tom,  and  that  at  Lockwood's 
suggestion  he  had  himself  got  Blackmail  to  speak  to  Tom's 
uncle  about  it.  The  young  men  followed  who  had  heard 
Tom  say,  as  he  left  town  after  his  break  with  his  uncle, 
that  George  Lockwood  was  the  cause  of  all  his  troubles, 
and  that  Lockwood  "  had  better  not  get  in  his  way  again, 
if  he  knew  what  was  good  for  him.'' 

Lincoln  sat  out  that  forenoon  without  making  a  note, 
without  raising  an  objection,  without  asking  the  witnesses 
a  question,  and  without  a  book  or  a  scrap  of  paper  before 
him.  He  did  not  break  silence  at  all,  except  to  waive  the 
cross-examination  of  each  witness.  The  impression  made 
in  Tom's  favor  by  his  voluntary  appearance  at  the  trial, 


292  THE  Gil  AY  SONS 

when  he  might  perhaps  have  got  away,  was  by  this  time 
dissipated,  and  the  tide  set  now  overwhelmingly  against 
him  5  and  to  this  tide  his  self-contained  lawyer  had  offered 
not  the  slightest  opposition.  It  was  a  serious  question  even 
among  the  lawyers  whether  or  not  Lincoln  had  given  up 
the  case.  But  if  he  had  given  up  the  case,  why  did  he  not 
fight  on  every  small  point,  as  any  other  lawyer  would  have 
done,  for  the  sake  of  making  a  show  of  zeal  ?  To  Allen, 
the  public  prosecutor,  there  was  something  annoying  and 
ominous  in  Lincoln's  silence ;  something  that  made  him 
apprehensive  of  he  knew  not  what. 

When  the  court  took  its  noon  recess  Barbara  and  her 
mother  were  in  utter  despondency.  It  seemed  to  them  that 
Lincoln  was  letting  the  case  go  by  default,  while  the  pros 
ecuting  attorney  was  full  of  energetic  activity. 

"  Abra'rn,"  said  Mrs.  Gray  son,  intercepting  Lincoln  as  he 
passed  out  of  the  bar  with  his  hat  drawn  down  over  his 
anxious  brows,  "  ain't  ther'  nothin'  you  kin  do  for  Tom  ? 
Can't  you  show  'em  that  he  never  done  it  ?" 

"  I  '11  do  whatever  I  can,  Aunt  Marthy,  but  you  must 
leave  it  to  me."  So  saying,  he  quickly  left  her  and  pushed 
on  out  of  the  door,  while  his  learned  brethren  gathered  into 
a  group  within  the  bar,  and  unanimously  agreed  in  con 
demning  his  neglect  of  every  opportunity  to  break  the  force 
of  the  evidence  against  Tom.  Why  had  he  not  objected  to 
much  of  it,  why  had  he  not  cross-questioned,  why  did  he 
not  ask  for  a  change  of  venue  yesterday  ? 

When  the  sheriff  and  his  deputy,  at  the  close  of  this 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL  EVIDENCE  293 

forenoon  session,  passed  out  of  the  court-house  with  Tom, 
there  was  a  rush  of  people  around  and  in  front  of  them. 
Men  and  boys  climbed  up  on  wagons,  tree  stumps,  and 
whatever  afforded  them  a  good  view  of  the  criminal.  For 
the  most  part  the  people  were  only  moved  by  that  heartless 
curiosity  which  finds  a  pleasurable  excitement  in  the  sight 
of  other  people's  woes,  but  there  was  also  very  manifest  an 
increasing  resentment  toward  Tom,  and  not  a  little  of  that 
human  ferocity  which  is  easily  awakened  in  time  of  excite 
ment  and  which  reminds  us  of  a  sort  of  second  cousinship 
that  subsists  between  a  crowd  of  men  and  a  pack  of  wolves 
— or  between  a  pack  of  men  and  a  crowd  of  wolves. 

When  Tom  found  himself  at  length  landed  within  the 
friendly  prison  walls,  out  of  sight  and  hearing  of  the 
unfeeling  crowd,  he  was  in  the  deepest  dejection.  For 
what,  indeed,  that  could  happen  now  would  be  sufficient  to 
turn  back  such  a  tide  of  popular  condemnation  ?  Barbara 
came  to  him  presently  with  a  dinner  more  relishable  than 
that  which  the  sheriff  was  accustomed  to  serve  to  prisoners, 
and  all  the  way  to  the  jail  idle  people  had  strolled  after 
her;  and  though  no  one  treated  her  with  disrespect,  she 
could  hear  them  saying,  "That  's  his  sister,"  and  their 
voices  were  neither  sympathetic  nor  friendly.  When  she 
set  down  the  tray  on  one  of  the  stools  in  front  of  Tom,  she 
kept  her  eyes  averted  from  his,  lest  he  should  detect  the 
despondency  that  she  knew  herself  to  be  incapable  of  hid 
ing.  On  his  part,  Tom  made  a  feint  to  eat  the  food,  for 
Barbara's  sake.  But  after  examining  first  one  tid-bit  and 
25* 


294  THE  GRATSONS 

then  another,  essaying  to  nibble  a  little  first  at  this  and 
then  at  that,  he  got  up  abruptly  and  left  the  whole. 

"  'T  is  n't  any  use,  Barb/'  he  said,  huskily.  « I  can't  eat." 
And  Barbara,  knowing  how  much  need  her  brother  had 
for  all  his  self-control,  did  not  trust  herself  to  speak,  but 
took  up  the  tray  and  went  out  again,  leaving  Tom,  when 
the  deputy  had  locked  the  door,  sitting  alone  on  the  bench 
with  his  head  between  his  hands. 


XXVII 

LIGHT    IN    A    DARK    PLACE 

[HE  people  who  had  seats  in  the  court-room 
were,  for  the  most  part,  too  wise  in  their  gen 
eration  to  vacate  them  during  the  noon  recess. 
Jake  Hogan  clambered  down  from  his  uncom 
fortable  window-roost  for  a  little  while,  and  Bob  McCord 
took  a  plunge  into  the  grateful  fresh  air,  but  both  got  back 
in  time  to  secure  their  old  points  of  observation.  The  law 
yers  came  back  early,  and  long  before  the  judge  returned  the 
ruddy-faced  Magill  was  seated  behind  his  little  desk,  facing 
the  crowd  and  pretending  to  write.  He  was  ill  at  ease; 
the  heart  of  the  man  had  gone  out  to  Tom.  He  never  for  a 
moment  doubted  that  Tom  killed  Lock  wood,  but  then  a 
sneak  like  Lockwood  "  richly  desarved  it,"  in  MagilPs  esti 
mation.  Judge  Watkins's  austere  face  assumed  a  yet  more 
severe  expression ;  for  though  pity  never  interfered  with 
justice  in  his  nature,  it  often  rendered  the  old  man  unhappy, 
and  therefore  more  than  usually  irascible. 

There  was  a  painful  pause  after  the  judge  had  taken  his 
seat  and  ordered  the  prisoner  brought  in.  It  was  like  a 
wait  before  a  funeral  service,  but  rendered  ten  times  more 

295 


296  THE   GRATSONS 


distressing  by  the  element  of  suspense.  The  judge's  quill 
pen  could  be  heard  scratching  on  the  paper  as  he  noted 
points  for  his  charge  to  the  jury.  To  Hiram  Mason  the 
whole  trial  was  unendurable.  The  law  had  the  aspect  of  a 
relentless  boa-constrictor,  slowly  winding  itself  about  Tom, 
while  all  these  spectators,  with  merely  a  curious  interest  in 
the  horrible,  watched  the  process.  The  deadly  creature  had 
now  to  make  but  one  more  coil,  and  then,  in  its  cruel  and 
deliberate  fashion,  it  would  proceed  to  tighten  its  twists 
until  the  poor  boy  should  be  done  to  death.  Barbara  and 
the  mother  were  entwined  by  this  fate  as  well,  while  Hiram 
had  not  a  little  finger  of  help  for  them.  He  watched  Lin 
coln  as  he  took  seat  in  moody  silence.  Why  had  the  lawyer 
not  done  anything  to  help  Tom  ?  Any  other  lawyer  with  a 
desperate  case  would  have  had  a  stack  of  law-books  in  front 
of  him,  as  a  sort  of  dam  against  the  flood.  But  Lincoln  had 
neither  law-books  nor  so  much  as  a  scrap  of  paper. 

The  prosecuting  attorney,  with  a  taste  for  climaxes, 
reserved  his  chief  witness  to  the  last.  Even  now  he  was 
not  ready  to  call  So  vine.  He  would  add  one  more  stone  to 
the  pyramid  of  presumptive  proof  before  he  capped  it  all 
with  certainty.  Markham  was  therefore  put  up  to  identify 
the  old  pistol  which  he  had  found  in  Tom's  room.  Lincoln 
again  waived  cross-examination.  Blackman  felt  certain 
that  he  himself  could  have  done  better.  He  mentally  con 
structed  the  questions  that  should  have  been  put  to  the 
deputy  sheriff.  Was  the  pistol  hot  when  you  found  it? 
Did  it  smell  of  powder  ?  Did  the  family  make  any  objec- 


LIGHT  IX  A  DARK  PLACE  297 

tion  to  your  search?  —  Even  if  the  judge  had  ruled  out 
such  questions  the  jury  would  have  heard  the  questions, 
and  a  question  often  has  weight  in  spite  of  rulings  from  the 
bench.  The  prosecuting  attorney  began  to  feel  sure  of  his 
own  case;  he  had  come  to  his  last  witness  and  his  great 
stroke. 

"  Call  David  Sovine,"  he  said,  wiping  his  brow  and  look 
ing  relieved. 

"David  Sovine !  David  Sovine !  David  Sovine!"  cried 
the  sheriff  in  due  and  ancient  form,  though  David  sat 
almost  within  whispering  distance  of  him. 

The  witness  stood  up. 

"  Howld  up  your  roight  hand,"  said  the  clerk. 

Then  when  Dave's  right  hand  was  up  Magill  rattled  off 
the  form  of  the  oath  in  the  most  approved  and  clerkly  style, 
only  adding  to  its  effect  by  the  mild  brogue  of  his  pro 
nunciation. 

"  Do  soFm  swear  't  yull  tell  th'  truth,  th'  >ole  truth,  en 
nuthin'  b'  th'  truth,  s'  yilpye  God,"  said  the  clerk,  without 
once  pausing  for  breath. 

Sovine  ducked  his  head  and  dropped  his  hand,  and  the 
solemnity  was  over. 

Dave,  who  was  evidently  not  accustomed  to  stand  before 
such  a  crowd,  appeared  embarrassed.  He  had  deteriorated 
in  appearance  lately.  His  patent-leather  shoes  were  bright 
as  ever,  his  trousers  were  trimly  held  down  by  straps,  his 
hair  was  well  kept  in  place  by  bear's  oil  or  what  was  sold 
for  bear's  oil,  but  there  was  a  nervousness  in  his  expression 


298  THE  GRAYSONS 

and  carriage  that  gave  him  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  been 
drinking  to  excess.  Tom  looked  at  him  with  defiance,  but 
Dave  was  standing  at  the  right  of  the  judge,  while  the  pris 
oner's  dock  was  on  the  left,  and  the  witness  did  not  regard 
Tom  at  all,  but  told  his  story  with  clearness.  Something  of 
the  bold  assurance  which  he  displayed  at  the  inquest  was 
lacking.  His  coarse  face  twitched  and  quivered,  and  this 
appeared  to  annoy  him;  he  sought  to  hide  it  by  an  affecta 
tion  of  nonchalance,  as  he  rested  his  weight  now  on  one  foot 
and  now  on  the  other. 

"Do  you  know  the  prisoner?"  asked  the  prosecutor,  with 
a  motion  of  his  head  toward  the  dock. 

"Yes,  well  enough";  but  in  saying  this  Dave  did  not 
look  toward  Tom,  but  out  of  the  window. 

"  You  've  played  cards  with  him,  have  n't  you?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Tell  his  Honor  and  the  jury  when  and  where  you  played 
with  him." 

"  We  played  one  night  last  July,  in  Wooden  &  Snyder's 
store." 

11  Who  proposed  to  Tom  to  play  with  you?" 

"  George  Lockwood.     He  hollered  up  the  stove-pipe  for 

Tom  to  come  down  an'  take  a  game  or  two  with  me." 
"  What  did  you  win  that  night  from  Tom  ? " 
"  Thirteen  dollars,  an'  his  hat   an'  coat  an'  boots,  an'  his 

han'ke'chi'f  an'  knife." 

"  Who,  if  anybody,  lent  him  the  money  to  get  back  his 

things  which  you  had  won  ? " 


LIGHT  IX  A  DARK  PLACE  299 

"  George  Lockwood." 

Here  the  counsel  paused  a  moment,  laid  down  a  memo 
randum  he  had  been  using,  and  looked  about  his  table  until 
he  found  another ;  then  he  resumed  his  questions. 

"  Tell  the  jury  whether  you  were  at  the  Timber  Creek 
camp-meeting  on  the  9th  of  August." 

"  Yes  ;  I  was." 

"  What  did  you  see  there  ?     Tell  about  the  shooting." 

Dave  told  the  story,  with  a  little  prompting  in  the  way 
of  questions  from  the  lawyer,  substantially  as  he  had  told  it 
at  the  coroner's  inquest. .  He  related  his  parting  from  Lock- 
wood,  Tom's  appearance  on  the  scene,  Tom's  threatening 
speech,  Lockwood's  entreaty  that  Tom  would  not  shoot 
him,  and  then  Tom's  shooting.  In.  making  these  statements 
Dave  looked  at  the  stairway  in  the  corner  of  the  court 
room  with  an  air  of  entire  indifference,  and  he  even  made 
one  or  two  efforts  to  yawn,  as  though  the  case  was  a  rather 
dull  affair  to  him. 

"How  far  away  from  Mason  and  Lockwood  were  you 
when  the  shooting  took  place ? "  asked  the  prosecutor. 

"  Twenty  foot  or  more." 

"  What  did  Tom  shoot  with  a? " 

"  A  pistol." 

"  What  kind  of  a  pistol  ?  " 

"  One  of  the  ole-f ashion'  sort  —  flint-lock,  weth  a  ruther 
long  barrel." 

The  prosecuting  lawyer  now  beckoned  to  the  sheriff,  who 
handed  down  to  him,  from  off  his  high  desk,  Tom's  pistol. 


300  THE  GRATSONS 

"  Tell  the  jury  whether  this  looks  like  the  pistol." 

'  'T  was  just  such  a  one  as  that,     I  can't  say  it  was  that, 

but  it  was  hung  to  the  stock  like  that,  an7  about  as  long  in 

the  barrel. n 

"  What  did  Grayson  do  when  he  had  shot  George,  and 
what  did  you  do  ? " 

"Tom  run  off  as  fast  as  his  feet  could  carry  him,  an' 
I  went  up  towards  George,  who  'd  fell  over.  He  was  dead 
ag'inst  I  could  get  there.  Then  purty  soon  the  crowd  come 
a-runnin'  up  to  see  what  the  fracas  was." 

After  bringing  out  some  further  details  Allen  turned  to 
his  opponent  with  an  air  of  confidence  and  said : 
"  You  can  have  the  witness,  Mr.  Lincoln.'7 
There   was   a   brief   pause,  during  which   the  jurymen 
changed  their  positions  on  the  hard  seats,  making  a  little 
rustle  as  they  took  their  right  legs  from  off  their  left  and 
hung  their  left  legs  over  their  right  knees,  or  vice  versa. 
In  making  these  changes  they  looked   inquiringly  at  one 
another,  and  it  was  clear  that  their  minds  were  so  well  • 
made  up  that  even  a  judge's  charge  in  favor  of  the  prisoner, 
if  such  a  thing  had  been  conceivable,  would  have  gone  for 
nothing.    Lincoln  at  length  rose  slowly  from  his  chair,  and 
stood  awhile  in   silence,  regarding   Sovine,   who   seemed 
excited  and  nervous,  and  who  visibly  paled  a  little  as  his 
eyes  sought  to  escape  from  the  lawyer's  gaze. 

"You  said  you  were  with  Lockwood    just  before  the 
shooting?"  the  counsel  asked. 

"Yes."    Dave  was  all  alert  and  answered  promptly. 


LIGHT  IN  A  DARK  PLACE  301 

"  Were  you  not  pretty  close  to  him  when  he  was  shot  ? " 

"  No,  I  was  n't,"  said  Dave,  his  suspicions  excited  by  this 
mode  of  attack.  It  appeared  that  the  lawyer,  for  some  rea 
son,  wanted  to  make  him  confess  to  having  been  nearer  to 
the  scene  and  perhaps  implicated,  and  he  therefore  resolved 
to  fight  off. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  were  as  much  as  ten  feet  away  ?" 

"  I  was  more  than  twenty,"  said  Dave,  huskily. 

"  What  had  you  and  George  Lockwood  been  doing  to 
gether?" 

"We'd  been  — talking."  Manifestly  Dave  took  fresh 
alarm  at  this  line  of  questioning. 

"  Oh,  you  had  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  In  a  friendly  way  ?  " 

"  Yes,  tubby  shore ;  we  never  had  any  fuss." 

"  You  parted  from  him  as  a  friend  ?  "    . 

"  Yes,  of  course." 

"  By  the  time  Tom  came  up  you  'd  got  —  how  far  away  ? 
Be  careful  now." 

"  I  've  told  you  twiste.     More  than  twenty  feet." 

"  You  might  have  been  mistaken  about  its  being  Tom 
then  ? " 

"  No,  I  was  n't." 

"  Did  you  know  it  was  Tom  before  he  fired  ? " 

"  Tubby  shore,  I  did." 

"  What  time  of  night  was  it  ? " 

"  Long  towards  10,  I  sh'd  think." 
26 


302  THE   GRATSONS 

"  It  might  have  been  11?" 

"  No,  't  wus  n't  later  'n  about  10."  This  was  said  dog 
gedly. 

"  Nor  before  9  P 

"  No,  't  wus  nigh  onto  10,  I  said."  And  the  witness 
showed  some  irritation,  and  spoke  louder  than  before. 

"  How  far  away  were  you  from  the  pulpit  and  meeting- 
place  f " 

"  'Twixt  a  half  a  mile  an'  a  mile." 

"  Not  over  a  mile  ? " 

"  No,  skiercely  a  mile." 

"  But  don't  you  think  it  might  have  been  a  little  less  than 
half  a  mile  ? » 

"No,  it >s  nigh  onto  a  mile,  I  did  n't  measure  it,  but  it's 
a  mighty  big  three-quarters." 

The  witness  answered  combatively,  and  in  this  mood  he 
made  a  better  impression  than  he  did  on  his  direct  exam 
ination.  The  prosecuting  attorney  looked  relieved.  Tom 
listened  with  an  attention  painful  to  see,  his  eyes  moving 
anxiously  from  Lincoln  to  Dave  as  he  wondered  what  point 
in  Dave's  armor  the  lawyer  could  be  driving  at.  He  saw 
plainly  that  his  salvation  was  staked  on  some  last  throw. 

"  You  did  n't  have  any  candle  in  your  hand,  did  you,  at 
any  time  during  the  evening  ? " 

"  No ! "  said  Dave,  positively.  For  some  reason  this  ques 
tion  disconcerted  him  and  awakened  his  suspicion.  "What 
should  we  have  a  candle  for  ?  "  he  added. 

"  Did  either  George  Lockwood  or  Tom  have  a  candle  ? " 


LIGHT  IN  A  DARK  PLACE  303 

"  No,  of  course  not !  What  7d  they  have  candles  for  ? n 

"  Where  were  the  lights  on  the  camp-ground ! " 

"  Closte  by  the  preachers'  tent." 

"  More  than  three-quarters  of  a  mile  away  from  the.  place 
where  the  murder  took  place  ? 77 

"Anyway  as  much  as  three-quarters/'  said  Dave,  who 
began  to  wish  that  he  could  modify  his  previous  statement 
of  the  distance. 

"  How  far  away  were  you  from  Lockwood  when  the  mur 
der  took  place  ?  '7 

"  Twenty  feet/7 

"  You  said  l  or  more 7  awhile  ago." 

"  Well,  7t  wus  n't  no  less,  pVaps,77  said  Dave,  showing 
signs  of  worry.  "  You  don't  think  I  measured  it,  do  yeh  ? " 

"  There  were  no  lights  nearer  than  three-quarters  of  a 
mile?'7 

"  No,77  said  the  witness,  the  cold  perspiration  beading  on 
his  face  as  he  saw  Lincoln's  trap  opening  to  receive  him. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say- that  the  platform  torches  up  by 
the  preachers7  tent  gave  any  light  three-quarters  of  a  mile 
away  and  in  the  woods  I  '7 

"  No,  of  course  not.77 

"  How  could  you  see  Tom  and  know  that  it  was  he  that 
fired,  when  the  only  light  was  nearly  a  mile  away,  and 
inside  a  circle  of  tents  ?" 

"  Saw  by  moonlight,77  said  Sovine,  snappishly,  disposed 
to  dash  at  any  gap  that  offered  a  possible  way  of  escape. 

"  What  sort  of  trees  were  there  on  the  ground  1 77 


304  THE   GRAY  SONS 

"  Beech." 

"  Beech-leaves  are  pretty  thick  in  August  ? "  asked  Lin 
coln. 

"  Ye-es,  ruther,"  gasped  the  witness,  seeing  a  new  pitfall 
yawning  just  ahead  of  him. 

"And  yet  light  enough  from  the  moon  came  through 
these  thick  beech-trees  to  let  you  know  Tom  Grayson  ? n 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  could  see  him  shoot?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  full  twenty  feet  away?" 

"  Well,  about  that ;  nearly  twenty,  anyhow."  Dave 
shifted  his  weight  to  his  right  foot. 

"  And  you  pretend  to  say  to  this  court  that  by  the  moon 
light  that  you  got  through  the  beech-trees  in  August  you 
could  even  see  that  it  was  a  pistol  that  Tom  had  ? " 

"  Ye-es."     Dave  now  stood  on  his  left  foot. 

"  And  you  could  see  what  kind  of  a  pistol  it  was  ? "  This 
was  said  with  a  little  laugh  very  exasperating  to  the  witness. 

"  Yes,  I  could,"  answered  Dave,  with  dogged  resolution 
not  to  be  faced  down. 

"  And  just  how  the  barrel  was  hung  to  the  stock  ? "  There 
was  a  positive  sneer  in  Lincoln's  voice  now. 

"  Yes."    This  was  spoken  feebly. 

"  And  you  twenty  feet  or  more  away  ? " 

"  1 7ve  got  awful  good  eyes,  an7  I  know  what  I  see," 
whined  the  witness,  apologetically. 

Here  Lincoln  paused  and  looked  at  Sovine,  whose  extreme 


LIGHT  IN  A  DARK  PLACE  305 

distress  was  only  made  the  more  apparent  by  his  feeble 
endeavor  to  conceal  his  agitation.  The  counsel,  after  re 
garding  his  uneasy  victim  for  a  quarter  of  a  minute,  thrust 
his  hand  into  the  tail-pocket  of  his  blue  coat,  and  after  a  lit 
tle  needless  fumbling  drew  forth  a  small  pamphlet  in  green 
covers.  He  turned  the  leaves  of  this  with  extreme  deliber 
ation,  while  the  court-room  was  utterly  silent.  The  mem 
bers  of  the  bar  had  as  by  general  consent  put  their  chairs 
down  on  all-fours,  and  were  intently  watching  the  struggle 
between  the  counsel  and  the  witness.  The  sallow-faced 
judge  had  stopped  the  scratching  of  his  quill,  and  had  low 
ered  his  spectacles  on  his  nose,  that  he  might  study  the  dis 
tressed  face  of  the  tormented  Sovine.  Mrs.  Grayson's  hands 
were  on  her  lap,  palms  downward ;  her  eyes  were  fixed  on 
Abra'm,  and  her  mouth  was  half  open,  as  though  she  were 
going  to  speak. 

Barbara  found  it  hard  to  keep  her  seat,  she  was  so  eager 
for  Lincoln  to  go  on,  and  Tom  was  leaning  forward  breath 
lessly  in  the  dock  ;  his  throat  felt  dry,  and  he  choked  when 
he  tried  to  swallow  5  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  would 
smother  with  the  beating  of  his  heart.  But  it  was  worth 
while  to  turn  away  from  these  more  interested  parties  to 
look  for  a  moment  at  the  ruddy  face  of  Bob  McCord,  which 
was  puckered  to  a  kind  of  focus  with  an  expression  that 
was  customary  with  him  in  a  moment  of  supreme  interest, 
as  when  he  was  drawing  a  sure  bead  on  a  bear  or  deer.  It 
was  worth  while  to  regard  Rachel  Albaugh,  who  had  lifted 
the  veil  from  her  face  radiant  with  interest.  Lincoln 
26* 


306  THE   GE  AT  SONS 

appeared  to  be  the  only  perfectly  deliberate  person  in  the 
room.  He  seemed  disposed  to  protract  the  situation  as 
long  as  possible.  He  held  his  victim  on  the  rack  and  he 
let  him  suffer.  He  would  turn  a  leaf  or  two  in  his  pam 
phlet  and  then  look  up  at  the  demoralized  witness,  as 
though  to  fathom  the  depth  of  his  torture  and  to  measure 
the  result.  At  last  he  fixed  his  thumb  firmly  at  a  certain 
place  on  a  page  and  turned  his  eyes  to  the  judge. 

"  Now,  your  Honor,"  he  said  to  the  court,  "  this  witness/7 
with  a  half-contemptuous  gesture  of  his  awkward  left 
hand  toward  Sovine,  "  has  sworn  over  and  over  that  he 
recognized  the  accused  as  the  person  who  shot  George 
Lockwood,  near  the  Union  camp-meeting  on  the  night 
of  the  9th  of  last  August,  and  that  he,  the  witness,  was 
standing  at  the  time  twenty  feet  or  more  away,  while  the 
scene  of  the  shooting  was  nearly  a  mile  distant  from  the 
torches  inside  the  circle  of  tents.  So  remarkably  sharp  are 
this  witness's  eyes  that  he  even  saw  what  kind  of  pistol  the 
prisoner  held  in  his  hands,  and  how  the  barrel  was  hung  to 
the  stock,  and  he  is  able  to  identify  this  pistol  of  Grayson's 
as  precisely  like  and  probably  the  identical  weapon."  Here 
Lincoln  paused  and  scrutinized  Sovine.  "All  these  details 
he  saw  and  observed  in  the  brief  space  of  time  preceding 
the  fatal  shot, —  saw  and  observed  them  at  10  o'clock  at 
night,  by  means  of  moonlight  shining  through  the  trees  — 
beech-trees  in  full  leaf.  That  is  a  pretty  hard  story.  How 
much  light  does  even  a  full  moon  shed  in  a  beech  woods 
like  that  on  the  Union  camp-ground?  Not  enough  to  see 


LIGHT  IN  A  DARK  PLACE  307 

your  way  by.  as  everybody  knows  who  has  had  to  stumble 
through  such  woods."  Lincoln  paused  here,  that  the  words 
he  had  spoken  might  have  time  to  produce  their  due  effect 
on  the  judge,  and  especially  on  the  slower  wits  of  some  of 
the  jury.  Meanwhile  he  turned  the  leaves  of  his  pamphlet. 
Then  he  began  once  more :  "  But,  may  it  please  the  court, 
before  proceeding  with  the  witness  I  would  like  to  have  the 
jury  look  at  the  almanac  which  I  hold  in  my  hand.  They 
will  here  see  that  on  the  night  of  the  9th  of  last  August, 
when  this  extraordinary  witness  "  •  -  with  a  sneer  at  Dave, 
who  had  sunk  down  on  a  chair  in  exhaustion  —  "  saw  the 
shape  of  a  pistol  at  twenty  feet  away,  at  10  o'clock,  by 
moonlight,  the  moon  did  not  rise  until  half-past  1  in  the 
morning." 

Sovine  had  been  gasping  like  a  fish  newly  taken  from  the 
water  while  Lincoln  uttered  these  words,  and  he  now  began 
to  mutter  something. 

11  You  may  have  a  chance  to  explain  when  the  jury  get 
done  looking  at  the  almanac,"  said  the  lawyer  to  him. 
"  For  the  present  you  >d  better  keep  silence." 

There  was  a  rustle  of  excitement  in  the  court-room,  but 
at  a  word  from  the  judge  the  sheriff's  gavel  fell  and  all  was 
still.  Lincoln  walked  slowly  toward  the  jury-box  and  gave 
the  almanac  to  the  foreman,  an  intelligent  farmer.  Coun 
trymen  in  that  day  were  used  to  consulting  almanacs,  and 
one  group  after  another  of  the  jurymen  satisfied  themselves 
that  on  the  night  of  the  9th,  that  is,  on  the  morning  of  the 
10th,  the  moon  came  up  at  half -past  1  o'clock.  When  all 


308  THE  GRAY  SONS 

had  examined  the  page?  the  counsel  recovered  his  little 
book. 

"  Will  you  let  me  look  at  it  ?"  asked  the  judge. 

"  Certainly,  your  Honor";  and  the  little  witness  was 
handed  up  to  the  judge,  who  with  habitual  caution  looked 
it  all  over,  outside  and  in,  even  examining  the  title-page  to 
make  sure  that  the  book  was  genuine  and  belonged  to  the 
current  year.  Then  he  took  note  on  a  slip  of  paper  of  the 
moon's  rising  on  the  night  of  August  9  and  10,  and  handed 
back  the  almanac  to  Lincoln,  who  slowly  laid  it  face  down 
ward  on  the  table  in  front  of  him,  open  at  the  place  of  its 
testimony.  The  audience  in  the  court-room  was  utterly 
silent  and  expectant.  The  prosecuting  attorney  got  half 
way  to  his  feet  to  object  to  Lincoln's  course,  but  he  thought 
better  of  it  and  sat  down  again. 

"Now,  may  it  please  the  court,"  Lincoln  went  on,  "I 
wish  at  this  point  to  make  a  motion.  I  think  the  court  will 
not  regard  it  as  out  of  order,  as  the  case  is  very  exceptional 
—  a  matter  of  life  and  death.  This  witness  has  solemnly 
sworn  to  a  story  that  has  manifestly  not  one  word  of  truth 
in  it.  It  is  one  unbroken  falsehood.  In  order  to  take  away 
the  life  of  an  innocent  man  he  has  invented  this  atrocious 
web  of  lies,  to  the  falsity  of  which  the  very  heavens  above 
bear  witness,  as  this  almanac  shows  you.  Now  why  does 
David  Sovine  go  to  all  this  trouble  to  perjure  himself? 
Why  does  he  wish  to  swear  away  the  life  of  that  young 
man  who  never  did  him  any  harm  ? "  Lincoln  stood  still  a 
moment,  and  looked  at  the  witness,  who  had  grown  ghastly 


LIGHT  IX  A  DARK  PLACE  309 

pale  about  the  lips.  Then  he  went  on,  very  slowly.  "  Be 
cause  that  witness  shot  and  killed  George  Lockwood  him 
self.  I  move  your  Honor,  that  David  Sovine  be  arrested 
at  once  for  murder." 

These  words,  spoken  with  extreme  deliberation  and  care 
ful  emphasis,  shook  the  audience  like  an  explosion. 

The  prosecutor  got  to  his  feet,  probably  to  suggest  that 
the  motion  was  not  in  order,  since  he  had  yet  a  right  to  a 
re-direct  examination  of  Sovine,  but,  as  the  attorney  for 
the  State,  his  duty  was  now  a  divided  one  as  regarded  two 
men  charged  with  the  same  crime.  So  he  waved  his  hand 
irresolutely,  stammered  inarticulately,  and  sat  down. 

"This  is  at  least  a  case  of  extraordinary  perjury,"  said 
the  judge.  "Sheriff,  arrest  David  Sovine!  This  matter 
will  have  to  be  looked  into." 

The  sheriff  came  down  from  his  seat,  and  went  up  to  the 
now  stunned  and  bewildered  Sovine. 

"  I  arrest  you,"  he  said,  taking  him  by  the  arm. 

The  day-and-night  fear  of  detection  in  which  Dave  had 
lived  for  all  these  weeks  had  wrecked  his  self-control  at 

last. 

"  God ! "  he  muttered,  dropping  his  head  with  a  sort  of 
shudder.  "  >T  ain't  any  use  keepin'  it  back  any  longer.  I 
—  did  n't  mean  to  shoot  him,  an'  I  would  n't  'a'  come  here 
ag'inst  Tom  if  I  could  'a'  got  away." 

The  words  appeared  to  be  wrung  from  him  by  some 
internal  agony  too  strong  for  him  to  master ;  they  were 
the  involuntary  result  of  the  breaking  down  of  his  forces 


310  THE   GRAY  SONS 

under  prolonged  suffering  and  terror,  culminating  in  the 
slow  torture  inflicted  by  his  cross-examination.  A  minute 
later,  when  his  spasm  of  irresolution  had  passed  off,  he 
would  have  retracted  his  confession  if  he  could.  But  the 
sheriff's  deputy,  with  the  assistance  of  a  constable,  was 
already  leading  him  through  the  swaying  crowd  in  the 
aisle,  while  many  people  got  up  and  stood  on  the  benches 
to  watch  the  exit  of  the  new  prisoner.  When  at  length 
Sovine  had  disappeared  out  of  the  door  the  spectators 
turned  and  looked  at  Tom,  sitting  yet  in  the  dock,  but  with 
the  certainty  of  speedy  release  before  him.  The  whole 
result  of  Lincoln's  masterful  stroke  was  now  for  the  first 
time  realized,  and  the  excitement  bade  fair  to  break  over 
bounds.  McCord  doubled  himself  up  once  or  twice  in  the 
effort  to  repress  his  feelings  out  of  respect  for  the  court, 
but  his  emotions  were  too  much  for  him;  his  big  fist, 
grasping  his  ragged  hat,  appeared  above  his  head. 

"  Goshamity !  Hooray !  »  he  burst  out  with  a  stentorian 
voice,  stamping  his  foot  as  he  waved  his  hat. 

At  this  the  whole  court-roomful  of  people  burst  into 
cheers,  laughter,  cries,  and  waving  of  hats  and  handker 
chiefs,  in  spite  of  the  sheriff's  sharp  rapping  and  shouts  of 
"  Order  in  court ! »  And  when  at  length  the  people  were 
quieted  a  little,  Mrs.  Grayson  spoke  up,  with  a  choking 


voice : 


"  Jedge,  ain't  you  a-goin'  to  let  him  go  now  ?  " 
There  was  a  new  movement  of  feeling,  and  the  judge 
called  out,  "  Sheriff,  order  in  court ! "    But  his  voice  was 
husky  and  tremulous.     He  took  off  his  spectacles  to  wipe 


LIGHT  IN  A  DARK  PL  A  CE  311 

them,  and  he  looked  out  of  the  window  behind  him,  and 
put  his  handkerchief  first  to  one  eye,  then  to  the  other, 
before  he  put  his  glasses  back. 

"  May  it  please  the  court,"  said  the  tall  lawyer,  who  had 
remained  standing,  waiting  for  the  tempest  to  subside, 
and  who  now  spoke  in  a  subdued  voice,  "  I  move  your 
Honor,  that  the  jury  be  instructed  to  render  a  verdict 
of  'Not  guilty. '"  The  judge  turned  to  the  prosecuting 
attorney. 

"  I  don't  think,  your  Honor,"  stammered  Allen,  "  that  I 
ought  to  object  to  the  motion  of  my  learned  brother,  under 
the  peculiar  circumstances  of  this  case." 

"  I  don't  think  you  ought,"  said  the  judge,  promptly,  and 
he  proceeded  to  give  the  jury  instructions  to  render  the 
desired  verdict.  As  soon  as  the  jury,  nothing  loath,  had 
gone  through  the  formality  of  a  verdict,  the  sheriff  came 
and  opened  the  door  of  the  box  to  allow  Tom  to  come  out. 

"  O  Tom  !  they  are  letting  you  out,"  cried  Janet,  running 
forward  to  meet  him  as  he  came  from  the  dock.  She  had 
not  quite  understood  the  drift  of  these  last  proceedings 
until  this  moment. 

This  greeting  by  little  Janet  induced  another  burst  of 
excitement.  It  was  no  longer  of  any  use  for  the  judge  to 
keep  on  saying  "  Sheriff,  command  order  in  court ! "  All 
the  sheriff's  rapping  was  in  vain;  it  was  impossible  to 
arrest  and  fine  everybody.  The  judge  was  compelled  to 
avail  himself  of  the  only  means  of  saving  the  court's 
dignity  by  adjourning  for  the  day,  while  Mrs.  Grayson 
was  already  embracing  her  Tommy  under  his  very  eyes. 


312  THE  GRAY  SONS 

As  for  Barbara,  overcome  by  the  reaction  of  feeling,  she 
sat  still  in  passive  happiness  which  she  did  not  care  to 
show  to  this  crowd,  whose  late  unfriendly  manifestations 
toward  Tom  she  could  not  yet  quite  forgive.  Hardly  con 
scious  of  what  was  passing  around  her,  she  did  not  observe 
that  her  mother  had  presently  let  go  her  hold  on  Tom,  and 
that  Tom  had  come  near  and  was  standing  in  front  of  her. 
Her  natural  reserve  made  her  wish  to  avoid  a  scene  in 
public,  but  there  are  times  when  natural  reserve  is  not  a 
sufficient  barrier.  Tom  gently  put  nis  hand  on  her  shoul 
der  and  said  "  Barb,"  then  all  sense  of  the  presence  of 
others  was  obliterated  in  an  instant.  The  only  fact  that 
she  took  note  of  was  that  her  brother  was  there  before  her 
with  unmanacled  hands,  free  to  go  where  he  listed  and  for 
ever  delivered  from  the  danger  that  had  hung  over  him  so 
imminently.  Of  what  she  did  you  must  not  expect  a  de 
scription;  embraces  and  kisses  of  joy  would  seem  hysterical 
if  set  down  here  in  black  and  white  for  readers  of  our  time, 
who  like  the  color  washed  out  of  a  human  passion  before 
it  is  offered  to  them.  No !  no !  let  us  turn  away — we  do  not 
like  such  things.  But  those  hearty  Illinois  folk  who  looked 
on  that  scene  between  Barbara  and  Tom,  and  whose  quick 
sympathies  made  them  part  of  it,  did  not  feel  the  slightest 
disapproval  when  they  saw  the  faithful  sister  put  her  arms 
about  Tom's  neck;  and  every  one  of  her  kisses  they 
seconded  with  clapping  of  hands  and  cheers,  and  some  of 
the  people  were  even  foolish  enough  to  weep  for  sympathy. 


XXVIII 

FREE 

HE  lawyers  presently  congratulated  Lincoln, 
Barbara  tried  to  thank  him,  and  Judge  Wat- 
kins  felt  that  Impartial  Justice  herself,  as  rep 
resented  in  his  own  person,  could  afford  to 
praise  the  young  man  for  his  conduct  of  the  case. 

"  Abr'am,"  said  Mrs.  Grayson,  "  d'  yeh  know  I  kind  uv 
lost  confidence  in  you  when  you  sot  there  so  long  without 
doin'  anything."  Then,  after  a  moment  of  pause  :  "  Abr'am, 
1 'm  thinkin'  I  'd  ort  to  deed  you  my  farm.  You  've  Darned 
it,  my  son ;  the  good  Lord  A'mighty  knows  you  have." 

"I  '11  never  take  one  cent,  Aunt  Marthy — not  a  single 
red  cent " ;  and  the  lawyer  turned  away  to  grasp  Tom's 
hand.  But  the  poor  fellow  who  had  so  recently  felt  the 
halter  about  his  neck  could  not  yet  speak  his  gratitude. 
"  Tom  here,"  said  Lincoln,  "  will  be  a  help  in  your  old  days, 
Aunt  Marthy,  and  then  I  '11  be  paid  a  hundred  times.  You 
see  it  '11  tickle  me  to  think  that  when  you  talk  about 
this  you  '11  say :  '  That  's  the  same  Abe  Lincoln  that  I 
used  to  knit  stockings  for  when  he  was  a  poor  little  fel- 
27 


314  THE  GEATSONS 

low,  with  his  bare  toes  sticking  out  of  ragged  shoes  in  the 
snow.' " 

Mrs.  Grayson  tried  to  say  something  more,  but  she 
could  not. 

Tom  got  his  speech  at  length,  when  he  saw  the  gigan- 
tesque  form  and  big  laughing  red  face  of  Bob  McCord 
approaching  him. 

"  Bob  ! "  he  said,  "  you  dear  old  Bob  !  God  A'rnighty 
bless  you,  old  fellow." 

"  I  'm  that  tickled,"  said  Bob,  rocking  to  and  fro  with 
amusement.  "  Tom,  you  'd  orto  >a'  seed  Jake  Hogan's  face. 
I  watched  it  closte.  Go  to  thunder!  How  it  did  git  mixed 
about  the  time  you  wuz  let  out !  I  'm  a-goin'  to  find  'im 
un  see  how  he  feels  agin  this  time";  and  Bob  let  go  of 
Tom's  hand  and  moved  off  through  the  crowd  to  look  for 
Jake. 

Tom  took  mechanically  all  the  congratulations  offered  to 
him.  Rachel  came  with  the  rest;  there  were  some  traces 
of  tears  about  her  long  lashes  as  she  beamed  on  Tom  the 
full  effulgence  of  her  beauty  and  friendliness.  Tom  gave 
a  little  start  when  he  saw  her;  then  he  took  her  hand,  as 
he  did  that  of  the  others,  in  a  half -unconscious  way.  He 
was  everybody's  hero  in  the  reaction  of  feeling,  but  he  had 
been  so  near  to  the  gallows  within  an  hour  that  he  had 
difficulty  yet  in  appreciating  the  change. 

"  You  '11  come  back  into  the  office  again,  won't  you, 
Tom  ?"  said  Blackman,  in  a  spurt  of  good  feeling. 

"I  don't  know,  Mr.  Blackman.     I  must  go  home  and 


FREE  315 

rest,  and  be  sure  I  'm  alive,  before  I  know  what  I  shall 
do." 

Tom's  uncle  had  been  utterly  surprised  by  the  turn 
affairs  had  taken,  for  he  had  never  really  doubted  Tom's 
guilt.  Now  he  was,  for  the  first  time,  almost  effusive ;  he 
gave  himself  credit  that  he  had  stood  by  his  nephew. 

"  We  >d  like  to  have  you  back,  Tom,"  he  said ;  "  and  you 
7d  be  a  general  favorite  now." 

"  I  want  to  go  home  first,  Uncle  Tom,  and  get  the  place 
out  of  debt,  so  mother  and  Barb  711  be  easy  in  their  minds. 
Then  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do.  I  don't  feel  as  if  I 
could  ever  come  to  town  again  without  fetching  mother 
with  me.  But  I  can't  tell ;  I  want  to  get  out  of  this  town  ; 
I  hate  the  very  sight  of  it.  Come,  Barb  5  do  let  's  get  off. 
Where  's  the  horse  ?  I  want  to  get  home,  where  I  won't 
see  any  more  of  this  crowd,  and  where  I  can  be  alone  with 
you  and  mother." 

Before  they  had  made  their  way  to  the  front  door  of  the 
court-house  the  multitude  outside  had  got  firm  hold  of  the 
fact  of  Tom's  acquittal  and  the  manner  of  it,  and  when  he 
appeared  they  set  up  a  shout  j  then  there  were  cheers  and 
more  cheers.  Bat  Tom  only  looked  worried,  and  sought  to 
extricate  himself  from  the  people  who  followed  him.  At 
length  he  managed  to  get  away  from  the  last  of  them. 

"You  have  n't  ate  anything  to-day,"  said  Janet,  who 
clung  to  his  hand  and  danced  along  by  his  side.  "  Come 
to  our  house  to  supper.  I  expect  we  '11  have  warm  bis 
cuits  and  honey." 


316  THE  GRAYSOXS 

"  You  dear  little  body ! "  said  Tom.  "  I  can't  stop  for 
supper  to-night,  Janet ;  I  must  go  home  with  mother.  I 
want  to  get  out  of  the  ugly  town.  I  '11  come  and  see  you 
sometimes,  and  I  '11  have  you  out  at  the  farm  lots  of  times." 
He  stopped  to  put  his  pale,  trembling  hand  under  her 
pretty  chin ;  he  turned  her  face  up  to  his,  he  stooped  and 
kissed  her.  But  no  entreaty  could  prevail  on  him  to  delay 
his  departure.  Not  even  the  biscuits  and  honey  on  which 
Janet  insisted.  Hiram  Mason  helped  him  to  hitch  up  old 
Blaze-face  to  the  wagon.  Then  Tom  turned  to  Hiram  and 
grasped  both  his  arms. 

"  You  're  going  with  us,"  he  said  abruptly. 

"  Not  to-night,  Tom.  I  '11  come  in  a  few  days,  when  I  Ve 
finished  my  writing  in  the  clerk's  office.  I  '11  stop  on  my 
way  home." 

"  I  want  to  thank  you,  but  I  can't ;  confound  it,"  said  Tom. 

"  Never  mind,  Tom  j  I  'm  almost  happier  than  you  are." 

"  1 7m  not  exactly  happy,  Mason,"  said  Tom ;  "  I  've  got 
that  plaguey  feeling  of  a  rope  around  my  neck  yet.  I  can't 
get  rid  of  it  here  in  Moscow.  Maybe  out  at  the  farm  I  shall 
be  able  to  shake  it  off.  Janet,  won't  you  run  into  the  house 
and  tell  mother  and  Barbara  to  come  out  quick  —  I  want  to 
get  away." 

Tom  had  expected  that  Bob  McCord  would  take  a  place 
in  the  wagon,  but  Bob  was  not  so  modest  as  to  forego  a 
public  triumph.  He  first  went  and  recovered  the  wagon- 
spoke  from  beneath  the  court-house  steps,  where  he  had 
hidden  it  the  night  before.  This  he  put  into  the  baggy 


FREE  317 

part  of  his  "wamus,"  or  hunting- jacket  —  the  part  above 
the  belt  into  which  he  had  often  thrust  prairie-chickens 
when  he  had  no  game-bag.  Then  he  contrived  to  encounter 
Jake  Hogan  in  the  very  thick  of  the  crowd. 

"  O  Jake  ! "  he  called,  "  what  's  the  price  uh  rope  ?  How 's 
the  hangin'  business  a-gittin'  along  these  days  ?  Doin'  well 
at  it,  ain't  yeh  ? " 

"  Wha'  joo  mean  ? "  asked  Jake,  as  he  half  turned  about 
and  regarded  Bob  with  big  eyes. 

"  Seems  like  's  ef  you  'd  ort  to  be  ?n  ole  han7  by  this  time, 
Jake.  You  sot  the  time  fer  Tom's  funeral  three  deffer'nt 
nights :  wunst  you  wuz  a-goin?  to  have  it  over  't  Perrys- 
burg,  un  wunst  the  Sunday  night  that  Pete  Markham 
throwed  you  off  the  track  weth  that  air  yarn  about  a  wall 
eyed  man  weth  red  whiskers,  un  wunst  ag'in  las'  night. 
Ev'ry  time  you  sot  it  they  wuz  some  sort  uv  a  hitch ;  it  did 
n't  seem  to  come  off  rightly.  S'pose  un  you  try  yer  hand 
on  Dave  So  vine  awhile.  They  's  luck  in  a  change." 

"  I  hain't  had  no  han'  in  no  hangin's  nor  nuthin'  uh  that 
sort,"  snarled  Jake. 

"  You  hain't  ?  Jest  you  go  un  tell  that  out  on  Broad 
Run,  sonny.  Looky  h-yer,  Jake.  I  Ve  got  the  evidence  agin 
you,  un  ef  you  dare  me  I  '11  go  afore  the  gran'  jury  weth  it. 
I  jest  dare  you  to  dare  me,  ef  you  dare." 

But  Jake  did  not  dare  to  dare  him.  He  only  moved 
slowly  away  toward  his  horse,  the  excited  crowd  surging 
after  him,  to  his  disgust. 

"  Looky  h-yer,  Jake,"  Bob  went  on,  following  his  retreat. 
27* 


THE  GRATSONS 

"I  want  to  gin  you  some  advice  as  a  well-wishin'  friend  un 
feller-citizen.  Barb'ry  knowed  your  Vice  las'  night,  un 
Barb'ry  Grayson  hain't  the  sort  uv  a  gal  to  stan'  the  sort 
uv  foolin'  't  you  Ve  been  a-doin'  about  Tom." 

"  Aw,  you  shet  up  yer  jaw,  now  wonchoo  f "  said  Jake. 
"I  say,  Jake,"  said  McCord,  still  pursuing  the  crestfallen 
leader  of  Broad  Run,  while  the  crowd  moved  about  Big 
Bob  as  a  storm  center.     "I  say  there,  Jake 5  liker  'n  not 
Barb'ry  '11   stay  in  town  to-night  un  go  afore  the  gran7 
jury  to-morry.     Now  ef  I  wuz  you  I  'd  cPar  the  county 
this  very  identical  night.     Your  ornery  lantern-jawed  face 
would  n'  look  half  's  han'some  as  Tom's  in  that  air  box  in 
front  uv  the  sher'f." 
"You  shet  up!  "said  Jake. 

"Come  un  shet  me  up,  wonch  you?"  said  Bob,  rubbing 
his  hands  and  laughing. 

Jake  had  reached  his  horse  now,  and  without  another 
word  he  mounted  and  rode  away.  But  Bob  kept  walking 
about  with  his  fists  in  his  pockets,  his  big  elbows  protrud 
ing,  and  his  face  radiant  with  mischief  until  Sheriff  Plun- 
kett  came  out  of  the  court-house. 

"  I  say,  Sher'f,"  he  called,  "  how  many  men  'd  you  say 
they  wuz  in  that  air  fust  mob  ? " 

"  Nigh  onto  forty,  I  should  think,"  said  Plunkett ;  "  but 
of  course  I  can't  just  exactly  say."  And  he  walked  away, 
not  liking  to  be  catechised.  There  was  something  myste 
rious  about  that  mob,  and  he  was  afraid  there  might  be 
something  that  would  count  in  the  next  election. 


FREE  319 

"  They  had  pistols,  did  n't  they  ?"  Bob  continued,  follow 
ing  him. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  Plunkett,  pausing  irresolutely. 
"  Now  looky  h-yer,  Sher'f ;  I  know  sumpin  about  that 
air  mob.  They  wuz  n't  but  jest  on'y  two  men  in  the  whole 
thing.  I  don't  say  who  they  wuz";  and  here  Bob  looked 
about  on  the  crowd,  which  showed  unmistakable  signs  of 
its  relish  for  this  revelation. 

"  Un  as  fer  pistols,  they  did  have  'em.  I  've  got  one  of 
'em  h-yer."  Bob  here  pulled  the  wagon-spoke  from  the 
depths  of  his  hunting-shirt.  "  That 's  one  of  the  identical 
hoss-pistols  that  wuz  pointed  at  your  head  las'  night.  Felt 
kind-uh  cold  un  creepy  like,  did  n't  it  now,  Hank  Plunkett, 
when  its  muzzle  was  agin  yer  head,  un  it  cocked,  besides? 
Ha-a!  ha!" 

The  crowd  jeered  and  joined  in  Bob's  wild  merriment. 
"I  '11  have  you   arrested,"   said    the    sheriff    severely. 
"You've  confessed  enough  now  to  make  the  grand  jury 
indict  you." 

"  Fer  what  ?  Fer  savin'  the  life  uv  a  innercent  man  I 
That  'd  be  a  purty  howdy-do,  now  would  n't  it  ?  Un  it 
would  be  a  lovely  story  to  tell  at  my  trial,  that  the  sher'f 
uv  this  yere  county  gin  up  his  keys  to  two  men,  two  lone 
some  men  weth  orfy  wagon-spokes!  He-e !  An' the  wagon- 
spokes  cocked!  A  wagon-spoke 's  a  mighty  bad  thing  when 
it  does  go  off,  especially  ef  it 's  loadened  with  buck-shot." 

Plunkett  came  close  to  McCord,  and  said  in  an  under 
tone  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  others:  "Ah,  Bob,  I 


320  THE  GRAY  SONS 

knowed  it  wuz  your  voice,  un  I  knowed  your  grip.  They 
ain't  any  other  man  in  this  county  that  can  put  me  down 
the  way  you  did  las'  night.  But  don't  you  tell  Jake  ur 
any  of  his  crowd  about  it";  and  he  winked  knowingly 
at  Bob. 

"  Aw,  go  to  thunder,  now ! "  said  Bob,  speaking  loudly 
and  not  to  be  cajoled  into  giving  up  his  fun.  "  Sher'f,  you 
can't  come  no  gum  games  on  me.  By  jeementley  crickets, 
you  wuz  skeered,  un  that  's  all  they  is  about  it.  You 
wilted  so  ?t  I  wuz  afeerd  you  'd  clean  faint  away  afore 
I  could  git  out  uv  yeh  where  the  keys  wuz.  Why  did  n't 
you  hide  Tom  summers?  You  wuz  afeerd  Broad  Run  'd 
vote  agin  you,  un  you  as  good  as  tole  Jake  Hogan  ut 
you  would  n'  make  no  trouble  when  he  come  to  lynch 
Tom." 

"  No,  I  did  n't ;  I  did  n't  have  anything  to  say  to  Jake." 
"  Ef  you  take  my  case  afore  the  gran'  jury  un  I  'm  tried, 
I  '11  prove  it  on  yeh.  Now,  Hank  Plunkett,  they  's  two 
things  that  '11  never  happen."  Here  Bob  smote  his  right 
fist  into  his  left  palm.  "  One  is  't  you  '11  ever  fetch  my 
case  afore  the  gran'  jury.  That 's  as  shore  's  you  're  born. 
T'  other  is  that  you  '11  ever  be  elected  ag'in  !  Wha  'd  joo 
turn  off  Pete  Markham  fer?  Fer  tryin'  to  save  Tom,  un 
to  please  Broad  Run.  Now  you  're  come  up  weth,  ole  hoss. 
Markham  '11  be  the  nex'  sher'f.  You  jest  cut  a  notch  in  a 
stick  to  remember  't  Big  Bob  McCord  tole  you  so.  Ef  't 
had  n'  been  fer  me  'n>  Abe  Lincoln  you  'n'  Jake,  'twext  and 
'tween  yeh,  'd  'a'  hung  the  wrong  feller.  Now  I  jest  want 


FREE  321 

to  see  you  fetch  me  afore  the  court  wunst.  Ef  you  pester 
me  too  much,  1 7m  denied  'f  I  don't  go  thar  on  m'  own 
hook." 

"You  Ve  been  drinking,  Bob,"  said  Plunkett,  as  he 
hurried  away ;  but  the  people  evidently  sided  with  McCord, 
whose  exploit  of  mobbing  the  sheriff  almost  single-handed 
had  made  him  more  than  ever  the  champion  of  the  county. 

That  night  Jake  Hogan,  afraid  of  arrest,  succeeded  in 
trading  his  cabin,  with  the  front  door  still  unhinged,  and 
his  little  patch  of  rugged  ground  for  a  one-horse  wagon 
and  some  provisions.  Over  the  wagon  he  stretched  his 
only  two  bed-sheets  of  unbleached  domestic  for  covering. 
Before  noon  the  next  day,  he  had  passed  safely  out  of  the 
county.  The  raw-boned  horse,  the  rickety  wagon,  the 
impoverished  and  unwilling  cow  tied  behind,  the  two 
yellow  mongrel  pups  between  the  wagon-wheels,  and  the 
frowsy-headed  wife  alongside  of  him  were  token  enough  to 
every  experienced  eye  that  here  was  a  poor  whitey  on  his 
travels.  To  all  inquiries  regarding  his  destination,  Jake 
returned : 

"  1 7m  boun>  fer  Jlfessouri.  Yeh  see  they  hain't  no  kind 
of  a  chance  fer  a  poor  man  in  this  yer  daudrautted 
Eelinoys  country." 

Once  an  example  of  migration  had  been  set,  his  neigh 
bors  grew  restless  also,  and  in  a  year  or  two  nearly  all  of 
them  had  obeyed  their  hereditary  instinct  and  followed 
him  to  Pike  County  in  Missouri.  The  most  of  the  Broad 
Run  neighborhood  is  now  included  in  a  great  grazing 


322  THE  GRAY  SONS 

farm ;  here  a  few  logs,  there  some  tumble-down  ruins  of  a 
stick-chimney,  and  in  another  place  a  rough  stone  hearth, 
only  remain  to  indicate  the  resting-place  for  a  few  years 
of  a  half -nomadic  clan,  whose  members  or  their  descend 
ants  are  by  this  time  engaged,  probably,  in  helping  to  rid 
the  Pacific  coast  of  its  unchristian  Chinese. 


XXIX 

THE    CLOSE    OF    A    CAREER 

'  AVE  SOVINE'S  partial  confession,  which  had 
served  to  acquit  Tom,  was  sufficient  at  the 
next  term  of  the  court  to  condemn  him,  for 
no  plea  of  accidental  shooting  could  save  him 
after  he  had  tried  to  escape  at  the  expense  of  another 
man's  life.  During  his  trial  the  motive  for  shooting  Lock- 
wood  remained  an  inexplicable  mystery.  But  when  once 
Dave  was  convinced  that  his  execution  was  inevitable  and 
there  was  an  end  to  all  the  delights  of  deviltry,  he  pro 
ceeded  to  play  the  only  card  remaining  in  his  hand,  and  to 
euchre  Justice  on  her  own  deal.  Like  other  murderers  of 
his  kind  he  became  religious,  and  nothing  could  be  more 
encouraging  to  criminals  than  the  clearness  and  fervor  of 
his  religious  experience,  and  his  absolute  certainty  of  the 
rewards  of  paradise.  His  superiority  in  wickedness  had 
made  him  the  hero  of  all  the  green  goslings  of  the  village  ; 
his  tardy  conversion  and  shining  professions  made  him  an 
object  of  philanthropic  interest  to  sentimental  people  and 
gave  him  the  consolations  of  conspicuity  to  the  last. 

323 


324  THE  GEATSONS 

It  was  during  this  lurid  sunset  period  of  his  unnecessary 
existence  that  Dave  made  confessions.  These  were  not 
always  consistent  one  with  another;  the  capacity  for  sim 
ple  and  direct  truth-telling  is  a  talent  denied  to  men  of 
Sovine's  stamp,  nor  can  it  be  developed  in  a  brief  season  of 
penitence.  It  is  quite  probable  that  Sovine  failed  to  state 
the  exact  truth  even  when  narrating  his  religious  experi 
ences.  But  by  a  comparison  of  his  stories,  with  some 
elimination  of  contradictory  elements,  the  main  facts  re 
garding  the  death  of  George  Lockwood  were  made  out 
with  passable  clearness.  Being  of  a  thrifty  turn  of  mind, 
Lockwood  had,  by  a  series  of  careful  observations,  detected 
one  of  the  principal  tricks  employed  by  Dave  to  win  the 
money  of  the  unwary.  It  had  been  Lockwood's  purpose  to 
play  the  trick  back  on  Dave  at  some  favorable  opportunity, 
but  this  he  found  quite  impossible.  To  bring  himself  to 
Dave's  proficiency  in  manipulation  no  end  of  assiduous 
practice  would  be  needful.  There  remained  one  other  way 
in  which  he  might  utilize  his  discovery.  It  was  an  estab 
lished  rule  in  that  part  of  the  country  that  he  who  detected 
his  opponent  in  the  very  act  of  cheating  at  cards  might 
carry  off  the  stakes. 

When  Lockwood  went  to  the  camp-rneeting  he  put  into 
his  pocket  a  bit  of  candle,  in  order  to  have  a  game  with 
Dave ;  and  when  on  encountering  him  Dave  proposed  the 
game,  the  two  went  out  into  the  woods,  remote  from  the 
meeting,  Lockwood  lighted  his  candle  and  they  sat  down 
on  a  log  to  play.  Lockwood  won  at  first  and  doubled  the 


THE  CLOSE  OF  A  CAREER  325 

stakes  at  every  game,  until  Dave,  seeing  that  his  pocket- 
money  was  running  short,  and  the  candle  fast  wasting  in 
the  breezes,  concluded  to  sweep  in  the  stakes  with  his 
favorite  trick.  George  Lockwood  exposed  the  cheat  at 
the  very  instant,  and  put  the  stakes  in  his  pocket.  But 
Dave  had  received  his  education  in  its  higher  branches 
in  the  South-west  of  half  a  century  ago,  and  he  had 
no  notion  of  suffering  himself  to  be  bankrupted  so 
easily.  He  drew  his  pistol  and  demanded  the  stakes, 
following  Lockwood  with  reiterated  threats,  until,  in  a 
moment  of  exasperation,  he  shot  him.  A  crowd  came 
quickly  at  the  sound  of  the  pistol,  and  Dave  had  the 
shrewdness  not  to  run  away  and  not  to  attempt  to  take 
any  money  from  George  Lockwood's  person.  Remember 
ing  Tom  Grayson's  threats,  he  declared,  with  his  usual 
alertness  in  mendacity,  that  he  had  seen  Grayson  do  the 
shooting,  and  thus  diverted  attention  from  himself. 

He  had  no  further  thought  at  the  time  than  to  get  out  of 
a  present  difficulty ;  it  was  his  purpose  to  leave  the  country 
before  the  trial  should  come  on.  But  he  found  himself 
watched,  and  he  imagined  that  he  was  suspected.  He  saw 
110  chance  to  move  without  making  sure  of  his  own  arrest ; 
he  became  alarmed  and  unfitted  for  decision  by  the  sense 
of  his  peril ;  as  the  trial  approached,  his  nerves,  shaken  by 
dissipations,  were  unstrung  by  the  debate  within  him.  He 
saw  ghosts  at  night  and  his  sleep  almost  entirely  forsook 
him.  This  horror  of  a  doom  that  seemed  perpetually  to 
hang  over  him  was  greatly  enhanced  by  the  cross-examina- 
28 


326  THE  GRAY  SONS 

tion  to  which  he  was  subjected;  from  the  first  he  mis 
doubted  that  Lincoln  had  penetrated  his  whole  secret  and 
possessed  the  means  of  making  it  known.  And  when  he 
heard  himself  charged  publicly  with  the  murder  and  as 
publicly  arrested,  he  believed  that  some  evidence  against 
him  had  been  found  j  he  did  not  draw  the  line  between  the 
charge  and  the  proof,  and  the  half  confession  escaped  him 
in  the  first  breakdown  produced  by  sudden  despair. 

But  at  the  last  he  spoke  edifyingly  from  the  scaffold,  and 
died  with  as  much  composure  and  more  self-complacency 
than  Tom  would  have  shown  had  he  fallen  a  victim  to 
Dave's  rascality.  What  becomes  of  such  men  in  another 
world  is  none  of  my  business.  But  I  am  rather  pleased  to 
have  them  depart,  be  it  to  paradise,  or  purgatory,  or  limbo, 
or  any  other  compartment  of  the  world  of  spirits.  In  some 
moods  I  could  even  wish  them  a  prosperous  voyage  to  the 
Gehenna  of  our  forefathers,  now  somewhat  obsolescent,  if 
only  they  would  begone  and  cease  to  vex  this  rogue-ridden 
little  world  of  ours. 


XXX 

TOM    AND    RACHEL 

HEN  Tom  rode  home  from  the  trial  with  his 
mother  and  Barbara,  his  emotions  were  not 
just  what  one  might  expect  j  the  events  of 
the  day  and  the  tremendous  strain  on  his 
nerves  had  benumbed  him.  He  was  only  conscious  that  it 
gave  him  a  great  pleasure  to  leave  the  village  behind,  and 
to  get  once  more  upon  the  open  prairie,  which  was  glorified 
by  the  tints  and  shadows  of  the  setting  sun.  The  fields  of 
maize,  with  their  tassels  growing  brown  and  already  too 
ripe  and  stiff  to  wave  freely,  and  with  their  long  blades 
becoming  harsh  and  dry,  so  that  the  summer  rustle  had 
changed  to  a  characteristic  autumnal  rattling,  seemed  to 
greet  him  like  old  friends  who  had  visibly  aged  in  his 
absence.  Tom  found  his  mind,  from  sheer  strain  and 
weariness,  fixing  itself  on  unimportant  things;  he  noted 
that  the  corn-silk  which  protruded  from  the  shucks  was 
black,  and  that  the  shucks  themselves  were  taking  on  that 
sear  look  which  is  the  sure  token  of  the  ripeness  of  the  ear 
within  the  envelope.  Now  and  then  he  marked  an  ear  that 

327 


328  TEE  GRATSONS 

had  grown  so  long  as  to  push  its  nose  of  cob  quite  beyond 
the  envelope.  The  stretches  of  prairie  grass  showed  a  mix 
ture  of  green  and  brown;  the  September  rains  had  fresh 
ened  a  part  of  the  herbage,  giving  it  a  new  verdure,  but 
the  riper  stalks  and  blades  had  maintained  their  neutral 
colors.  These  things  interested  Tom  in  a  general  way,  as 
marking  the  peaceful  changes  that  had  taken  place  in  the 
familiar  face  of  nature  during  his  period  of  incarceration. 
What  he  felt  in  regarding  these  trifles  was  simply  that  he 
was  alive  and  once  more  free  to  go  where  he  pleased.  He 
said  little,  and  replied  to  the  remarks  of  his  mother  and 
Barbara  briefly,  and  he  drove  old  Blaze-face  at  a  speed 
quite  unbecoming  a  horse  at  his  time  of  life.  The  people 
whom  he  passed  cheered  him,  or  called  out  their  well-meant 
congratulation,  or  their  bitter  remarks  about  Dave  Sovine, 
but  Tom  on  his  part  was  not  demonstrative;  he  even  drove 
past  Rachel  Albaugh  and  her  brother  Ike  with  only  a  nod 
of  recognition.  To  any  remark  of  his  mother  and  Barbara 
about  Dave's  villainy,  and  to  any  allusion  to  the  case,  he 
returned  the  briefest  answers,  giving  the  impression  that 
he  wished  to  get  mentally  as  well  as  physically  away  from 
the  subject.  When  he  got  home  he  asked  for  an  old- 
fashioned  country  hoe-cake  for  supper,  and  he  would  have 
the  table  set  out  on  the  kitchen  porch ;  he  said  it  seemed  so 
delightful  to  be  permitted  to  go  out-of-doors  again.  After 
supper  he  turned  old  Blaze  into  the  pasture,  with  a  notion 
that  he  too  might  prefer  his  liberty. 
In  reflecting  on  the  events  of  the  day,  Barbara  remem- 


TOM  AND  RACHEL  329 

bered  with  pleasure  that  Rachel  had  congratulated  Tom. 
It  made  his  vindication  complete  that  the  young  woman 
who  had  refused  his  attentions  when  he  was  accused  of 
nothing  worse  than  foolish  gambling  had  now  taken  pains 
to  show  her  good- will  in  public.  But  when  the  question  of 
a  possible  renewal  of  the  relations  between  Tom  and  his 
old  sweetheart  came  up  in  Barbara's  mind,  there  was 
always  a  doubt.  Not  that  there  was  anything  objection 
able  about  Rachel  Albaugh.  Barbara  said  to  her  mother 
over  and  over  again,  in  the  days  that  followed  Tom's 
acquittal,  that  there  was  nothing  against  Rachel.  If 
Rachel  was  not  very  industrious  she  was  certainly  "  easy- 
tempered."  In  her  favor  it  could  be  said  that  she  had  a 
beautiful  face,  and  that  she  would  be  joint  heiress  with  her 
brother  to  a  large  and  well-improved  prairie  farm,  to  say 
nothing  of  her  father's  tract  of  timber-land. 

After  a  while  Barbara  came  to  wish  that  Tom's  old  affec 
tion  for  Rachel  might  be  kindled  again.  She  did  not  like 
to  see  him  so  changed.  He  plodded  incessantly  at  farm 
work,  and  he  seemed  to  have  lost  his  relish  for  society.  If 
any  one  came  to  the  house,  he  managed  to  have  business 
abroad.  He  was  not  precisely  gloomy,  but  the  change  in 
him  was  so  marked  that  it  made  his  sister  unhappy. 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  see  Rachel!"  she  asked,  a  week 
after  the  trial.  Barbara  was  straining  her  eyes  down  the 
road,  as  she  often  did  in  those  days.  "  Rachel  would  be 
glad  to  see  you  again,  Tom,  like  as  not." 

"  Maybe  she  would,"  answered  Tom,  as  he  picked  up  the 
28* 


330  THE  GRATSONS 

pail  and  started  to  the  spring  for  water  by  way  of  cutting 
off  all  further  talk  on  the  question. 

The  days  went  by  without  Tom's  showing  by  any  sign 
that  he  cared  to  see  Rachel,  and  to  Barbara's  grief  the  days 
went  by  without  Hiram  Mason's  promised  arrival  at  the 
Graysons'.  But  there  came  presently  a  note  from  Hiram 
to  Barbara,  saying  that  he  had  been  detained  by  the  neces 
sity  he  was  under  of  finishing  MagilPs  writing,  and  by  the 
difficulty  he  found  in  getting  his  pay  from  the  easy-going 
clerk  for  what  he  had  done.  But  he  hoped  to  stop  on  his 
way  home  in  three  or  four  days.  This  note  was  brought 
from  Moscow  by  Bob  McCord,  who  also  brought  Janet. 
The  child  had  teased  her  father  into  letting  her  come  out 
in  Aunt  Martha's  wagon  with  Bob,  whom  she  had  seen 
driving  past  the  house  on  his  way  in. 

Janet  spent  her  time  in  the  country  wholly  with  Tom. 
She  followed  him  afield,  she  climbed  with  him  into  the 
barn  lofts,  she  sat  on  the  back  of  old  Blaze  when  Tom  led 
him  to  water,  she  went  into  the  forest  when  Tom  went  to 
fell  trees  for  fire-wood,  she  helped  him  to  pick  apples,  and 
she  was  as  happy  in  all  this  as  she  would  have  been  in  the 
Elysian  Fields. 

"  Cousin  Tom,"  she  said,  the  day  after  her  arrival,  as  she 
leaned  out  of  the  high,  open  window  of  the  hay-loft, 
"  yonder  's  a  lady  getting  down  on  the  horse-block  at  the 
house." 

Tom  climbed  up  from  the  threshing-floor  to  the  mow, 
and,  standing  well  back  out  of  sight  in  the  gloom  of  the 


TOM  AND  RACHEL  331 

loft,  he  recognized  Rachel  Albaugh's  horse.  Then  he  went 
back  again  to  his  wheat-fanning  on  the  threshing-floor. 

"  Are  n't  you  going  to  go  and  help  her  ? "  said  Janet, 
when  Tom  stopped  the  noisy  fanning-mill  to  shovel  back 
the  wheat  and  to  rake  away  the  cheat. 

"  Pshaw ! "  said  Tom.  "A  country  girl  does  n't  need  any 
help  to  get  off  a  horse." 

Rachel  had  come  to  call  on  Barbara,  nor  did  she  admit 
to  herself  that  her  visit  had  anything  to  do  with  Tom. 
But  she  found  herself  in  an  attitude  to  which  she  was 
unaccustomed.  From  the  moment  that  Tom  had  been 
charged  with  murder  her  liking  for  him  increased.  The 
question  of  his  guilt  or  innocence  did  not  disturb  her  — 
except  in  so  far  as  it  jeoparded  his  life  j  he  was  at  least  a 
dashing  fellow,  out  of  the  common  run.  And  now  that  he 
had  been  acquitted,  and  was  a  hero  of  everybody,  Rachel 
found  in  herself  a  passion  that  was  greater  than  her 
vanity,  and  that  overmastered  even  her  prudence.  She 
was  tormented  by  her  thoughts  of  Tom  in  the  day,  she 
dreamed  of  him  at  night.  Tom  would  not  come  to  her, 
and  she  felt  herself  at  length  drawn  by  a  force  she  could 
not  resist  to  go  to  him. 

Barbara  asked  Rachel  to  stay  to  dinner,  and  promised 
that  Tom  would  put  away  her  horse  as  soon  as  he  knew 
that  she  had  come.  This  was  but  the  common  hospitality 
of  the  country,  but  Barbara  hoped  that  Rachel's  presence 
might  evoke  Tom's  old  buoyant  self  again.  And  so,  while 
Barbara  sat  on  the  loom-bench  weaving  a  web  of  striped 


332  THE  GRAYSONS 

linsey,  Rachel  sat  near  her,  knitting.  It  appeared  to  Bar 
bara  that  Rachel  had  undergone  almost  as  great  a  change 
as  Tom.  She  had  lost  her  taciturnity.  Her  tongue  kept 
pace  with  the  click  of  her  needles.  She  only  broke  the 
thread  of  her  talk  when  she  paused  to  take  the  end  of  one 
needle  out  of  the  quill  of  her  knitting-case  and  put  another 
in.  Under  color  of  sympathy  for  the  Graysons  in  their 
troubles  she  talked  of  what  was  in  her  mind.  How  dread 
ful  it  must  have  been  for  Tom  to  be  in  jail !  How  anxious 
he  must  have  been  at  the  trial !  How  well  he  bore  up 
under  it  all !  How  proud  he  must  have  been  when  he  was 
acquitted !  These  and  such  remarks  were  web  and  woof  of 
her  talk,  while  Barbara  was  throwing  her  nimble  shuttle  to 
and  fro  and  driving  the  threads  home  with  the  double-beat 
of  her  loom-comb. 

By  half -past  11  the  early  farm  dinner  was  almost  ready, 
and  Mrs.  Grayson  blew  a  blast  on  the  tin  horn  which  hung 
outside  of  the  door,  to  let  Tom  and  Janet  know  that  they 
were  to  come  in. 

When  Tom  heard  the  horn  he  went  and  led  Rachel's 
horse  to  the  stable,  after  perching  Janet  in  the  saddle ;  and 
then  he  delayed  long  enough  to  shuck  out  and  give  him 
eight  or  ten  ears  of  corn.  After  this  he  came  to  the  house 
and  washed  his  hands  and  face  in  the  country  way,  with 
much  splash  and  spatter,  in  a  basin  that  sat  on  a  bench 
outside  of  the  door,  and  Janet  washed  hers,  imitating  to 
the  best  of  her  ability  Tom's  splattering  way  of  dashing 
the  water  about.  Then  the  two  used  the  towel  that  hung 


AXD  RACHEL  333 

on  a  roller  in  the  kitchen  porch,  and  Tom  entered  the 
kitchen  with  his  clothes  soiled  by  labor  and  with  that  look 
of  healthful  fatigue  which  comes  of  plentiful  exercise  in 
the  open  air. 

"Howdy,  Rachel?  All  well  ;t  your  house?"  This  was 
the  almost  invariable  formula  of  country  politeness,  and 
it  was  accompanied  by  a  faint  smile  of  welcome  and  a 
grasp  of  her  hand. 

"  Howdy,  Tom  ? "  said  Rachel,  cordially.  "  I  hope  you 
are  well."  Rachel  regarded  him  a  moment,  and  then  let 
her  eyes  droop.  Had  Rachel  discovered  that  her  face  was 
at  its  best  when  her  long  eyelashes  were  lowered  in  this 
fashion,  or  was  the  action  merely  instinctive  ? 

"  Oh,  so-so ! "  answered  Tom,  uneasily,  as  he  seated  him 
self  with  the  rest  at  the  table.  Rachel  sat  next  to  him,  and 
he  treated  her  with  hospitable  politeness,  but  she  looked  in 
vain  for  any  sign  of  his  old  affection.  She  hardly  once 
fairly  encountered  his  eye  during  the  meal.  He  seemed 
more  indifferent  to  her  attractions  than  she  had  ever 
known  any  man,  old  or  young,  to  be.  And  yet  she  knew 
that  her  charms  had  lost  nothing  of  their  completeness. 
That  very  morning  she  had  gone  into  the  rarely  opened 
Albaugh  parlor  and  examined  herself  in  the  largest  look 
ing-glass  in  the  house  —  the  one  that  hung  between  the 
parlor  windows,  and  that  had  a  print  of  Mount  Vernon  in 
the  upper  panel  of  the  space  inclosed  between  the  turned 
frames.  Her  fresh  and  yet  delicate  complexion  was  with 
out  a  speck  or  flaw,  her  large  eyes  were  as  lustrous  as  ever, 


334  THE  GRATSOSS 

and  there  was  the  same  exquisite  symmetry  and  harmony 
of  features  that  had  made  her  a  vision  of  loveliness  to 
so  many  men.  But  Tom  seemed  more  interested  in  his 
cousin,  whom  he  kept  laughing  with  a  little  childish  by 
play  while  talking  to  his  sister's  guest.  Rachel  felt  herself 
baffled,  and  by  degrees,  though  treated  cordially,  she 
began  to  feel  humiliated.  When  dinner  was  finished  by  a 
course  of  pumpkin  pie  and  quince  preserves  served  with 
cream,  Tom  pushed  back  his  chair  and  explained  that  he 
was  just  going  to  begin  building  some  rail  pens  to  hold  the 
corn  when  it  should  be  gathered  and  shucked,  and  that  he 
could  not  allow  himself  the  usual  noon-time  rest.  The 
days  were  getting  so  short,  you  know.  Would  Rachel 
excuse  him  ?  Barbara  would  blow  the  horn  so  that  he 
could  put  the  saddle  on  Rachel's  horse  when  she  wanted  it. 
But  would  n't  she  stay  to  supper  ? 

Rachel  declined  to  stay  to  supper,  and  she  was  visibly 
less  animated  after  dinner  than  she  had  been  before.  The 
conversation  flagged  on  both  sides ;  Barbara  became  pre 
occupied  with  her  winding-blades,  her  bobbins,  and  her 
shuttle,  while  Rachel  was  absorbed  in  turning  the  heel  of 
her  stocking.  By  half -past  1  o'clock  the  guest  felt  bound 
to  go  home;  the  days  were  getting  shorter  and  there  was 
much  to  be  done  at  home,  she  remembered.  The  horn  was 
blown,  and  Tom  led  her  horse  out  to  the  block  and  helped 
her  to  mount.  As  'he  held  her  stirrup  for  her  to  place  her 
foot,  it  brought  to  his  memory,  with  a  rush,  her  refusal  to 
let  him  ride  home  with  her  from  the  Timber  Creek  school- 


TOM  AND  RACHEL  335 

house  after  the  "  singing."  When  he  looked  up  he  saw 
that  Rachel's  mind  had  followed  the  same  line  of  associa 
tion  ;  both  of  them  colored  at  this  manifest  encounter  of 
their  thoughts. 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  n't  to  have  said  '  no'  that  day  at  the 
school-house."  Rachel  spoke  with  feeling,  moved  more  by 
the  desperate  desire  she  felt  to  draw  Tom  out  than  by  any 
calculation  in  making  the  remark. 

"  Yes,  you  ought,"  said  Tom.     "  I  never  blamed  you." 

Then  there  was  an  awkward  pause. 

"  Good-bye,  Tom,"  said  Rachel,  extending  her  hand. 
"Won't  you  come  over  and  see  us  sometime?" 

"  I  'm  generally  too  tired  when  night  comes.  Good-bye, 
Rachel";  and  he  took  her  hand  in  a  friendly  way.  But 
this  was  one  of  those  farewells  that  are  aggravated  by 
mental  contrast,  and  Rachel  felt,  as  she  looked  at  Tom's 
serious  and  preoccupied  face,  that  it  was  to  her  the  end  of 
a  chapter. 

Tom  started  up  the  pathway  toward  the  house,  but 
stopped  half-way  and  plucked  a  ripe  seed-pod  from  the  top 
of  a  poppy-stalk,  and  rubbed  it  out  between  his  two  hands 
as  he  looked  a  little  regretfully  after  Rachel  until  she  dis 
appeared  over  the  hill.  Then  he  turned  and  saw  Barbara 
standing  on  the  porch  regarding  him  inquiringly. 

"  You  are  n't  like  yourself  any  more,  Tom,"  she  said. 

"  I  know  that,"  he  answered,  meditatively,  at  the  same 
time  filliping  the  minute  poppy-seeds  away,  half  a  dozen 
at  a  time,  with  his  thumb.  "  I  don't  seem  to  be  the  same 


336  THE   GRAY  SONS 

fellow  that  I  was  three  months  ago.  Then  I  'd  'a'  followed 
Eachel  like  a  dog  every  step  of  the  way  home." 

"  She  's  awfully  in  love  with  you,  poor  girl." 

"  Oh !  she  '11  get  over  that,  I  suppose.  She  's  been  in  love 
before." 

"  And  you  don't  care  for  her  any  more  ? " 

"I  don't  seem  to  care  for  anything  that  I  used  to  care  for. 
I  would  n't  like  to  be  what  I  used  to  be." 

This  sentence  was  rather  obscure,  and  Barbara  still 
looked  at  Tom  inquiringly  and  waited  for  him  to  explain. 
But  he  only  went  on  in  the  same  inconsequential  way,  as 
he  plucked  and  rubbed  out  another  poppy -head.  "  I  don't 
care  for  anything  nowadays,  but  just  to  stay  with  you  and 
mother.  When  a  fellow  's  been  through  what  I  have,  I 
suppose  he  is  n't  ever  the  same  that  he  was ;  it  takes  the 
ambition  out  of  you.  Hanging  makes  an  awful  change  in 
your  feelings,  you  know  "  j  and  he  smiled  grimly. 

"  Don't  say  that ;  you  make  me  shiver,"  said  Barbara. 

"  But  I  say,  Barb,"  and  with  this  Tom  sowed  broadcast 
all  the  poppy-seed  in  his  hand,  "  yonder  comes  somebody 
over  the  hill  that  '11  get  a  warmer  welcome  than  Rachel  did, 
I  '11  guarantee." 

How  often  in  the  last  week  had  Barbara  looked  to  see  if 
somebody  were  not  coming  over  the  hill !  Now  she  found 
her  vision  obstructed  by  a  "  laylock "  bush,  and  she  came 
down  the  path  to  where  her  brother  stood.  As  soon  as  she 
had  made  out  that  the  pedestrian  was  certainly  Hiram 
Mason,  she  turned  and  went  into  the  house,  to  change  her 


TO M  AND  RA  CHEL  337 

apron  for  a  freshSr  one,  and  with  an  instinctive  wish  to 
hide  from  Mason  a  part  of  the  eagerness  she  had  felt  for 
his  coming.  But  when  he  had  reached  the  gate  and  was 
having  his  hand  cordially  shaken  by  Tom,  Barbara  came 
back  to  the  door  to  greet  him  ;  and  just  because  she  could 
n't  help  it,  she  went  out  on  the  porch,  then  down  the  steps 
and  half-way  to  the  gate  to  tell  him  how  glad  she  was  to 
see  him. 


20 


XXXI 

HIRAM  AND  BARBARA 

HE  cordiality  of  his  welcome  was  a  surprise  to 
Mason  ;  lie  could  hardly  tell  why.  The  days 
had  dragged  heavily  since  his  separation  from 
Barbara,  and  his  mind  had  been  filled  with 
doubts.  The  delay  imposed  upon  him  by  Barbara's  cir 
cumstances  and  then  by  his  own  was  unwholesome;  love 
long  restrained  from  utterance  is  apt  to  make  the  soul 
sick.  During  his  last  week  in  Moscow  he  had  copied  court 
minutes  and  other  documents  into  the  folio  records  in  an 
abstracted  fashion,  while  the  conscious  part  of  his  intellect 
was  debating  his  chance  of  securing  Barbara's  consent. 
He  fancied  that  she  might  hold  herself  more  than  ever 
aloof  from  him  now ;  that  her  pride  had  been  too  deeply 
wounded  to  recover,  and  that  she  would  never  bring  herself 
to  accept  him. 

When  he  had  at  length  finished  all  there  was  for  him  to 
do  in  the  clerk's  office  at  Moscow,  and  Magill  had  contrived 
to  borrow  enough  money  to  pay  him  his  fifty  cents  a  day, 
Mason  was  too  impatient  to  wait  for  some  wagon  bound 


HIRAM  AND  BARBARA  339 

for  the  Timber  Creek  neighborhood.  lie  started  on  foot, 
intending  to  pass  the  night  under  the  friendly  roof  of  the 
Graysons,  and  to  push  on  homeward  in  the  morning-  for 
he  would  already  be  a  month  late  in  beginning  his  college 
year.  His  mind  was  revolving  the  plan  of  his  campaign 
against  Barbara's  pride  all  the  way  over  the  great  lonely 
level  prairie,  the  vista  of  which  stretched  away  to  the  west 
until  it  was  interrupted  by  a  column  of  ominous  black 
smoke,  which  told  of  the  beginning  of  the  autumnal  prairie 
fires  that  annually  sweep  the  great  grassy  plains  and  keep 
them  free  of  trees.  At  length  the  tantalizing  forest,  so 
long  in  sight,  was  reached,  and  he  entered  the  pale  fringe 
of  slender  poplar-trees  —  that  forlorn  hope  thrown  out  by 
the  forest  in  its  perpetual  attempt  to  encroach  011  a 
prairie  annually  fire-swept.  But  when  at  last  he  entered 
the  greater  forest  itself,  now  half  denuded  of  its  shade, 
the  problem  was  still  before  him.  He  contrived  with 
much  travail  of  mind  what  seemed  to  him  an  ingenious 
device  for  overcoming  Barbara's  fear  of  his  family.  He 
would  propose  that  his  mother  should  write  her  a  letter 
giving  a  hearty  assent  to  his  proposal  of  marriage.  If 
that  failed,  he  could  not  think  of  any  other  plan  likely  to 
be  effective. 

Like  many  conversations  planned  in  absence,  this  one 
did  not  seem  so  good  when  he  had  the  chance  to  test  it. 
The  way  in  which  Tom  welcomed  him  at  the  gate,  shaking 
his  hand  and  taking  hold  of  his  arm  in  an  affectionate, 
informal  way,  gave  him  an  unexpected  pleasure,  though 


340  THE   GRATSONS 

nothing  could  be  more  natural  under  the  circumstances 
thau  Tom's  gratitude.  And  when  Tom  said,  "  Barbara  '11 
be  awful  glad  to  see  you,  an'  so  '11  Mother,"  Mason  was 
again  surprised.  Not  that  he  knew  any  good  reason  why 
Barbara  and  her  mother  should  not  be  glad  to  see  him,  but 
he  who  broods  long  over  his  feelings  will  hatch  forebod 
ings.  When  Hiram  looked  up  from  Tom  at  the  gate,  he 
saw  Barbara's  half-petite  figure  and  piquant  face,  full  as 
ever  of  force  and  aspiration,  waiting  half-way  down  the 
walk.  Barbara  paused  there,  half-way  to  the  gate,  but  she 
could  not  wait  even  there ;  she  came  on  down  farther  and 
met  him,  and  looked  in  his  eyes  frankly  and  told  him — 
with  some  reserve  in  her  tone,  it  is  true,  but  with  real  cor 
diality —  that  she  was  glad  to  see  him.  And  by  the  time 
he  reached  the  porch,  Mother  Grayson  herself  —  kindly, 
old-fashioned  soul  that  she  was  —  stood  in  the  door  and 
greeted  Mason  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

After  a  little  rest  and  friendly  talk  in  the  cool,  well-kept, 
home-like  sitting-room,  Hiram  went  out  with  Tom  to  look 
about  the  familiar  place.  The  fruit  trees  were  pretty  well 
stripped  of  their  foliage  by  a  recent  wind  and  the  ground 
was  carpeted  with  brown  and  red  and  yellow  leaves,  while 
the  rich  autumn  sunlight,  which  but  half  warmed  the 
atmosphere,  gave  one  an  impression  of  transientness  and 
of  swift-impending  change.  It  was  one  of  those  days  on 
which  the  seasons  are  for  the  instant  arrested  —  a  little 
moment  of  repose  and  respite  before  the  inevitable  catas- 


HIRAM  AND  BARBARA  341 

trophe.  The  busiest  man  can  hardly  resist  the  influence  of 
such  a  day  ;  farmers  are  prone  to  bask  in  the  slant  sunlight 
at  such  times  and  to  talk  to  one  another  over  line-fences  or 
seated  on  top-rails.  The  crows  fly  hither  and  thither  in  the 
still  air,  and  the  swallows,  gathered  in  noisy  concourse, 
seem  reluctant  to  set  out  upon  their  southward  journey. 
But  Mason  soon  left  Tom  and  entered  the  kitchen,  where 
he  sat  himself  down  upon  a  bench  over  against  the  loom 
and  watched  the  swift  going  to  and  fro  of  Barbara's  nim 
ble  shuttle,  and  listened  to  the  muffled  pounding  of  the 
loom-comb,  presently  finding  a  way  to  make  himself  useful 
by  winding  bobbins. 

The  two  were  left  alone  at  intervals  during  the  after 
noon,  but  Mason  could  not  summon  courage  to  reopen  the 
question  so  long  closed  between  them.  His  awkward 
reserve  reacted  on  Barbara,  and  conversation  between 
them  became  difficult,  neither  being  able  to  account  for 
the  mood  of  the  other. 

After  a  while  Janet,  tired  with  following  Tom  the  live 
long  day,  came  into  the  kitchen  and  besought  Barbara  to 
sing  "  that  song  about  Dick,  you  know" ;  and  though 
Mason  did  not  know  who  Dick  might  be,  he  thought  he 
would  rather  hear  Barbara  sing  than  to  go  on  trying  to 
keep  up  a  flagging  conversation;  so  he  seconded  Janet's 
request.  When  Barbara  had  tied  a  broken  string  in  the 
"  harness'7  of  the  loom,  she  resumed  her  seat  on  the  bench 
and  sang  while  she  wove. 


342  THE  GRATSONS 

BARBARA'S  WEAVING  SONG. 

Fly,  shuttle,  right  merrily,  merrily, 

Carry  the  swift-running  thread ; 
Keep  time  to  the  fancy  that  eagerly 

Weaveth  a  web  in  my  head. 

For  Dick  he  will  come  again,  come  again, 
Dick  he  will  come  again  home  from  afar 

With  musket  and  powder-horn, 
Musket  and  powder-horn,  home  from  the  war. 

Beat  up  the  threads  lustily,  lustily, 

Weave  me  a  web  good  and  strong ; 
Heart  brimful  and  flowing  with  joyousness 

Ever  is  bursting  with  song. 

For  Dick  he  will  come  again,  etc. 

Warp,  hold  the  woof  lovingly,  lovingly, 

Taking  and  holding  it  fast; 
Hearts  bound  together  in  unity 

Love  with  a  love  that  will  last. 

For  Dick  he  will  come  again,  come  again, 
Dick  he  will  come  again  home  from  afar 

With  musket  and  powder-horn, 
Musket  and  powder-horn,  home  from  the  war. 

By  the  time  the  ditty  was  ended,  Mrs.  Grayson  was  set 
ting  the  supper-table  by  the  fire-place,  doing  her  best  to 
honor  her  guest.  She  took  down  the  long-handled  waffle- 
irons  and  made  a  plate  of  those  delicious  cates  unknown 
since  kitchen  fire-places  went  out,  and  the  like  of  which 
will  perhaps  never  be  known  again  henceforth.  She  got 


HIRAM  AND  BARBARA  343 

out  some  of  the  apple-butter,  of  which  half  a  barrel  had 
been  made  so  toilsomely  but  the  week  before,  and  this  she 
flanked  with  a  dish  of  her  peach  preserves,  kept  sacredly 
for  days  of  state.  The  "  chaney "  cups  and  saucers  were 
also  set  out  in  honor  of  Hiram,  and  the  almost  transparent 
preserved  peaches  were  eaten  with  country  cream,  from 
saucers  thin  enough  to  show  an  opalescent  translucency, 
and  decorated  with  a  gilt  band  and  delicate  little  flowers. 
This  china,  which  had  survived  the  long  wagon-journey 
from  Maryland,  was  not  often  trusted  upon  the  table. 

"  My !  What  a  nice  supper  we  've  got,  Aunt  Marthy !  " 
said  Janet,  clapping  her  hands,  as  they  took  their  seats  at 
the  table. 

"  It  seems  to  me  you  're  making  company  out  of  me," 
said  Mason,  in  a  tone  of  protest. 

"We  sha'n't  have  you  again  soon,  Mason,"  said  Tom, 
"  and  we  don't  often  see  the  like  of  you." 

The  words  were  spontaneous,  but  Tom  ducked  his  head 
with  a  half -ashamed  air  when  he  had  spoken  them.  Bar 
bara  liked  Tom's  little  speech :  it  expressed  feelings  that 
she  could  not  venture  to  utter ;  and  it  had,  besides,  a  touch 
of  Tom's  old  gayety  of  feeling  in  it. 

When  supper  was  well  out  of  the  way  Hiram  proposed 
a  walk  with  Barbara,  but  it  did  no  good.  They  talked 
mechanically  about  what  they  were  not  thinking  about, 
and  by  the  time  they  got  back  to  the  house  Mason  was 
becoming  desperate.  He  must  leave  in  the  morning  very 
early,  and  he  had  made  no  progress ;  he  could  not  bring 


344  THE  GEATSONS 

himself  to  approach  the  subject  about  which  Barbara 
seemed  so  loath  to  speak,  and  concerning  which  he  dreaded 
a  rebuff  as  he  dreaded  death. 

They  entered  the  old  kitchen  and  found  no  one  there; 
the  embers  were  flickering  in  the  spacious  fire-place  and 
peopling  the  room  with  grotesque  shadows  and  dancing 
lights. 

"  Let  us  sit  here  awhile,  Barbara,"  he  said,  with  a  strange 
note  of  entreaty  in  his  tone,  as  he  swung  the  heavy  door 
shut  and  put  down  the  wooden  latch  —  relic  of  the  pioneer 
period. 

"  Just  as  you  please,  Mr.  Mason,"  answered  Barbara, 

"  Oh  !  say  Hiram,  won't  you  ?  "  He  said  this  with  a  touch 
of  impatience. 

"  Hiram  !  "  said  Barbara,  laughing. 

He  led  her  to  the  loom-bench. 

"  Sit  there  on  high,  as  you  did  the  night  you  put  me  into 
a  state  of  misery  from  which  I  have  n't  escaped  yet.  There, 
put  your  feet  on  the  chair-rung,  as  you  did  that  night." 
He  spoke  with  peremptoriness,  as  he  placed  a  chair  for  her 
feet,  so  that  she  might  sit  with  her  back  to  the  loom.  Then 
he  drew  up  another  shuck-bottomed  chair  in  such  a  way  as 
to  sit  beside  and  yet  half  facing  her,  but  lower. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  doggedly,  "  we  can  finish  the  talk  we  had 
then." 

"That  seems  ages  ago,"  said  Barbara,  dreamily,  "so 
much  has  happened  since." 

"  So  long  ago  that  you  don't  care  to  renew  the  subject  ? " 


HIRAM  AND  BARBARA  345 

"I  — »  But  Barbara  stopped  short.  The  feeble  blaze  in 
the  fire-place  suddenly  went  out. 

Hiram  did  not  know  where  to  begin.  He  got  up  and 
took  some  dry  chips  from  a  basket  and  threw  them  on  the 
slumbering  coals,  so  as  to  set  the  flame  a-going  again. 
Then  he  sat  down  in  his  chair  and  looked  up  at  the  now 
silent  Barbara,  and  tried  in  vain  to  guess  her  mood.  But 
she  remained  silent  and  waited  for  him  to  take  the  lead. 

"  Do  you  remember  what  you  said  then  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No !  how  can  I  ?    It  seems  so  long  ago." 

"  You  said  a  pack  of  nonsense."  As  he  blurted  out  this 
charge  Mason  turned  his  head  round  obliquely,  still  regard 
ing  Barbara. 

"  Did  I  ?  That 's  just  like  me,"  Barbara  answered,  with 
a  little  laugh. 

"  No,  it  is  n't  like  you,"  he  replied,  almost  rudely.  "  You 
're  the  most  sensible  woman  I  ever  knew,  except  on  one 
subject." 

"  What 's  that  ? "  Barbara  was  startled  by  the  vehemence 
and  abruptness  of  his  speech,  and  she  asked  this  in  a  half- 
frightened  voice. 

"  Your  pride.  I  looked  up  to  you  then,  as  I  do  now. 
You  're  something  above  me  —  I  just  worship  you."  To  a 
man  of  maturity  this  sort  of  talk  seems  extravagant 
enough.  But  one  must  let  youth  paint  itself  as  it  will, 
with  all  its  follies  on  its  head.  You  Ve  said  sillier  things 
than  that  in  your  time,  sober  reader — you  know  you 
have! 


346  THE  GE  AT  SONS 

"I  do  just  worship  you,  Barbara  Grayson,"  Hiram  went 
on ;  "but  you  talked  a  parcel  of  fool  stuff  that  night  about 
the  superiority  of  my  family,  and  about  your  not  being 
able  to  bear  it  that  my  people  should  look  down  on  you, 
and  —  well,  a  pack  of  tomfoolery  ;  that  7s  what  it  was,  Bar 
bara,  and  there  >s  no  use  of  calling  it  anything  else." 

Barbara  was  silent. 

"  Now,  I  'm  not  going  to  give  you  a  chance  to  make  any 
more  such  speeches.  But  I  want  to  ask  you  whether,  if  I 
should  send  you  a  letter  from  my  mother  when  I  get  home, 
and  maybe  from  my  sisters  too,  after  I  have  told  them  the 
whole  truth,  urging  you  to  accept  me  and  become  one  of 
our  family  —  I  want  to  know  whether,  then,  you  would  be 
willing;  whether  you'd  take  pity  on  a  poor  fellow  who 
can't  get  along  without  you.  Would  that  suit  you?" 

"No,  it  would  n't,"  said  Barbara,  looking  at  the  now 
blazing  chips  in  the  fire-place  with  her  head  bent  forward. 

"Well,  what  on  earth  would,  then?"  And  Mason  tilted 
back  his  chair  in  the  nervousness  of  desperation  and 
brought  his  eyes  to  a  focus  on  her  face,  which  was 
strangely  illuminated  in  the  flickering  foot-lights  from 
the  hearth. 

"  Did  I  talk  that  way  last  summer  ? " 

"  Yes,  you  did." 

"  It  must  have  hurt  you.  I  can  see  it  hurt  you,  from  the 
way  you  speak  about  it." 

"Yes,"  said  Mason;  "I  Ve  been  in  a  sort  of  purgatory 
ever  since." 


HIRAM  AND  BARBARA  347 

"  And  I  did  n't  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings.  1 'd  rather 
do  anything  than  to  hurt  your  feelings."  Here  she  paused, 
unable  to  proceed  at  once,  but  he  waited  for  her  to  show 
the  way.  Presently  she  went  on  : 

"Now,  Mr.  Mason, —  Hiram,  I  mean, —  I  'm  going  to 
punish  myself  for  my  foolish  pride.  I  must  have  felt  very 
differently  then  to  what  I  do  now.  The  more  I  have  seen 
of  you  the  more  I  have  —  admired  you."  Barbara  stopped 
and  took  up  the  hem  of  her  apron  and  picked  at  the 
stitches  as  though  she  would  ravel  them.  Then  she  pro 
ceeded,  dropping  her  head  lower,  "  Somehow  I  hate  to  say 
it7 — but  I  'in  going  to  punish  myself, —  the  more  I  have 
seen  of  you  the  more  I  have  —  liked  you.  It  don't  matter 
much  to  me  now  whether  your  mother  likes  me  or  not,  and 
I  really  don't  seem  to  care  what  your  sisters  think  about 
your  loving  a  poor  girl  from  the  country." 

"  Hush  !  Don't  talk  that  way  about  yourself,"  said  Hiram. 
But  Barbara  was  so  intent  on  finishing  what  she  had  re 
solved  to  say  that  she  did  not  give  any  heed  to  him,  but 
only  went  on  pulling  and  picking  at  the  hem  of  her  apron. 

"  I  only  want  to  know  one  thing,  Mr.  Mason,  and  that  is 
whether  you  —  whether  you  really  and  truly  want  me?" 
Her  face  blushed  deeply,  she  caught  her  breath,  her  head 
bowed  lower  than  before,  as  though  trying  in  vain  to 
escape  from  Hiram's  steadfast  gaze. 

"  God  only  knows  how  I  do  love  you,  Barbara,"  said 
Hiram,  speaking  softly  now  and  letting  his  eyes  rest  on 
the  floor. 


348  THE  GRAYSONS 

"  Well,"  said  Barbara,  "  as  good  a  man  as  you  deserves 
to  have  what  he  wants,  you  know";  and  here  she  smiled 
faintly.  "I  '11  put  in  the  dust  all  the  wicked  pride  that 
hurts  you  so."  And  Barbara  made  a  little  gesture.  Then 
after  a  moment  she  began  again,  stammeringly,  "If  — if 
you  really  want  me,  Hiram  Mason, —  why  —  then  —  I  '11 
face  anything  rather  than  miss  of  being  yours.  Now  will 
that  do?  And  will  you  forgive  me  for  keeping  you  in 
purgatory,  as  you  call  it,  all  this  time  ?  "  There  were  tears 
in  her  eyes  as  she  spoke  ;  partly  of  penitence,  perhaps,  but 
more  than  half  of  happiness. 

When  she  had  finished,  Mason  got  up  and  pushed  his 
chair  away  and  came  and  sat  down  on  the  loom-bench 
beside  her,  Barbara  making  room  for  him,  as  for  the  first 
time  she  lifted  her  eyes  timidly  to  his. 

"I  Ve  been  a  goose,  Barbara,  not  to  understand  you 
before.  What  a  woman  you  are  ! n 


XXXII 

THE    NEXT    MORNING 

HEN  Tom  waked  up  the  next  morning  in  the 
gray  daybreak,  he  found  that  Mason,  who 
should  have  shared  his  room,  had  not  come 

to  bed  at  all.    And  when  Tom  came  down  to 

uncover  the  live  coals  and  build  up  the  kitchen  fire,  he 
found  that  the  embers  had  not  been  covered  under  the 
ashes  as  usual ;  there  were  instead  smoking  sticks  of  wood 
that  had  newly  burned  in  two,  the  ends  having  canted 
over  backward  outside  of  the  andirons.  The  table  stood  in 
the  floor  set  with  plates  and  cups  and  saucers  for  two,  and 
there  were  the  remains  of  an  early  breakfast.  There  was 
still  heat  in  the  coffee-pot  when  Tom  touched  it,  and  from 
these  signs  he  read  the  story  of  Barbara's  betrothal  to 
Mason ;  he  conjectured  that  this  interview,  which  was  to 
precede  a  separation  of  many  months,  had  been  uninten 
tionally  protracted  until  it  was  near  the  time  for  Mason's 
departure.  The  debris  of  the  farewell  love-feast,  eaten  in  the 
silent  hour  before  daybreak,  seemed  to  have  associations  of 
sentiment.  Tom  regarded  these  things  and  was  touched 
30 


349 


350  THE  GRAY  SONS 

and  pleased,  but  lie  was  also  amused.  This  sitting  the  night 
out  seemed  an  odd  freak  for  a  couple  so  tremendously  seri 
ous  and  proper  as  the  little  sister  and  the  school-master. 

An  hour  later,  when  Tom,  having  finished  his  chores, 
came  in  for  his  breakfast,  Barbara  had  reappeared  below 
stairs  with  an  expression  of  countenance  so  demure  —  so 
entirely  innocent  and  unconscious  —  that  Tom  could  not 
long  keep  his  gravity;  before  he  had  fairly  begun  to  eat 
he  broke  into  a  merry,  boyish  laugh. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  about !  "  demanded  Barbara, 
looking  a  little  foolish  and  manifesting  a  rising  irritation, 
that  showed  how  well  she  knew  the  cause  of  his  amusement. 

"Oh!  nothing ;  but  why  don't  you  eat  your  breakfast, 
Barb  ?  You  seem  to  have  lost  your  appetite." 

"  Don't  tease  Barb'ry  now,"  said  Mrs.  Grayson. 

"  I  'm  not  teasing,"  said  Tom  ;  "  but  I  declare,  Barb,  it 
must  have  seemed  just  like  going  to  housekeeping  when 
you  two  sat  down  to  eat  breakfast  by  yourselves  this 
morning." 

"  O  Tom !  "  broke  in  Janet,  who  could  n't  quite  catch  the 
drift  of  the  conversation,  "  Barbara  went  to  bed  with  her 
clothes  on  last  night.  When  I  waked  up  this  morning  she 
was  lying  on  the  bed  by  me  with  her  dress  on." 

Tom  now  laughed  in  his  old  unrestrained  fashion. 

"  Say,  Barbara,"  Janet  went  on,  "  are  you  going  to  marry 
that  Mr.  Mason  that  was  here  yesterday  ? " 

Knowing  that  she  could  not  get  rid  of  Janet's  inquiries 
except  by  answering,  Barbara  said :  "  Oh,  I  suppose  so,"  as 


THE  NEXT  MORNING  351 

slie  got  up  to  set  the  pot  of  coffee  back  on  the  trivet  and 
hide  a  vexation  that  she  knew  to  be  foolish. 

"  Don't  you  knoiv  whether  you  're  going  to  marry  him  or 
not?"  put  in  Janet.  "I  sh'd  think  you  'd  know.  And  I 
sh'd  think  he  ?d  be  a  real  nice  husband."  Then  after  a  few 
moments  of  silence,  Janet  turned  011  Tom.  "  Tom,  who  's 
your  sweetheart  ? " 

"  Have  n't  got  any/7  said  Tom. 

"Is  n't  that  purty  girl  that  was  here  yesterday  your 
sweetheart  ?  " 

"  No ! " 

"Are  n't  you  ever  going  to  get  married?" 

"  Maybe,  some  day.     Not  right  off,  though." 

"  I  wish  you  would  find  a  good  wife,  Tom,"  said  Barbara 
without  looking  from  her  plate.  "  It  would  cheer  you  up." 
Barbara  felt  a  little  guilty  at  the  thought  of  leaving  the 
brother  who  had  always  seemed  her  chief  responsibility. 

"  Say,  Tom,  won't  you  wait  for  me  ? "  said  Janet,  solemnly. 

"Yes,  that  ;s  just  what  I  '11  do,"  said  Tom,  looking  at 
her.  "I  had  n't  thought  of  it  before;  but  that's  just 
exactly  what  I  '11  do,  Janet.  I  '11  wait  for  you,  now  you 
mention  it." 

"  Will  you,  indeed,  and  double  deed  ? " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  and  deed  and  double  deed,  I  '11  wait  for 
you,  Janet." 

"  That  '11  be  nice,"  said  Janet,  continuing  her  breakfast 
with  meditative  seriousness.  "  Now  I  'in  your  sweetheart, 
ain't  If" 


XXXIII 

POSTSCRIPTUM 

T  was  in  the  last  days  of  October,  a  few  weeks 
after  the  proper  close  of  the  story  which  I 
have  just  related,  when  Henry  Miller  —  the 
most  matter-of-fact  and  unsensational  of 
young  men  —  threw  his  family  into  a  state  of  excitement 
and  supplied  the  gossip  of  the  neighborhood  with  a  fresh 
topic  by  announcing  at  home  and  abroad  that  he  was  going 
to  leave  the  country,  either  for  the  Iowa  country  to  the 
west  of  the  Mississippi  or  for  the  fertile  bottom-lands  up 
north  on  the  "  Wisconse"  River,  as  it  was  called.  He  was 
the  only  son  of  his  father,  and  had  inherited  the  steady, 
plodding  industry  and  frugality  so  characteristic  of  a 
"  Pennsylvania  Dutch  "  race.  Until  he  was  of  age  he  was 
bound,  not  only  by  law,  but  by  the  custom  of  the  country, 
to  serve  his  father  much  as  a  bondsman  or  an  apprentice 
might  have  served,  for  an  able-bodied  son  was  distinctly 
recognized  as  an  available  and  productive  possession  in 
that  day.  When  he  became  of  age  his  close-fisted  father 
made  no  new  arrangement  with  him,  offered  him  no  start, 

352 


POSTSCEIPTUM  353 

paid  him  no  wages,  and  gave  him  no  share  in  the  produce 
of  the  fields.  It  was  enough,  in  the  father's  estimation, 
that  Henry  would  succeed  to  a  large  part  of  the  property  at 
his  death.  But  Henry,  on  mature  reflection,  had  made  up 
his  mind  that  emigration  would  be  better  than  a  reversion 
ary  interest  that  must  be  postponed  to  the  death  of  so 
robust  a  man  as  his  father,  who  was  yet  in  middle-life  and 
who  came  of  a  stock  remarkable  for  longevity.  Was  not 
his  grandfather  yet  alive  in  Pennsylvania,  while  his  great 
grandfather  had  not  been  dead  many  years  ?  It  was  after 
calculating  the  "  expectation  of  life"  in  the  Miller  family 
that  Henry  notified  his  father  of  his  intention  to  go  where 
land  was  cheap  and  open  a  large  farm  for  himself.  In  vain 
the  father  urged  that  he  could  not  get  on  without  him,  and 
that  there  would  be  no  one  to  look  after  things  if  the 
father  should  die.  Henry  persisted  that  he  must  do  some 
thing  for  himself  and  that  his  father  would  have  to  hire 
a  man,  for  he  should  surely  leave  as  soon  as  the  crops  were 
gathered,  so  as  to  get  land  enough  open  in  some  frontier 
country  to  afford  him  a  small  crop  of  corn  the  first  year. 

Henry's  mother  and  sisters  were  even  more  opposed  to 
his  going  than  his  father  was,  and  they  did  not  hesitate  to 
blame  the  senior  Miller  with  great  severity  for  not  having 
"  done  something "  for  Henry.  Henry's  father  had  never 
before  known  how  unpleasant  a  man's  home  may  come  to 
be.  He  was  reminded  that  Henry  had  not  an  acre,  nor 
even  a  colt,  that  he  could  call  his  own,  and  that  other 
farmers  had  done  better  than  that.  This  state  of  siege 
30* 


354  THE  GRAY  SONS 

became  presently  quite  intolerable,  and  the  elder  Miller 
resolved  not  only  "  to  do  something "  for  Henry,  but  to 
do  it  in  such  a  way  that  his  son  would  begin  life  very 
well  provided  for.  He  wanted  to  silence  the  clamor  of  the 
house  and  the  neighborhood  once  for  all,  and  prove  to  his 
critics  how  much  they  were  mistaken. 

It  was  about  a  week  after  Henry's  first  resolution  was 
taken  that  he  and  his  father  were  finishing  the  corn-gather 
ing.  They  were  throwing  the  unshucked  ears  into  a  great 
wagon  of  the  Pennsylvania  pattern  —  a  wagon  painted 
blue,  the  "bed"  of  which  rose  in  a  great  sweep  at  each  end 
as  though  some  reminiscence  of  the  antique  forms  of 
marine  architecture  had  affected  its  construction.  When 
all  the  corn  within  easy  throwing  distance  had  been 
gathered,  Henry,  who  was  on  the  near  side,  would  slip  the 
reins  from  the  standard  over  the  fore  wheel  and  drive 
forward  the  horses,  which  even  in  moving  bit  off  the  ends 
of  corn  ears  or  nibbled  at  the  greenest-looking  blades 
within  their  reach. 

"  Let 's  put  on  the  sideboards,"  said  the  elder,  "  and  we 
can  finish  the  field  this  load."  Though  Miller's  ancestors 
had  come  to  this  country  with  the  Palatine  immigration, 
away  back  in  1710,  there  was  a  little  bit  of  German  in  his 
accent ;  he  said  something  like  "  gorn "  for  corn.  The 
sideboards  were  put  up,  and  these  were  so  adjusted  that 
when  they  were  on  the  wagon  the  inclosing  sides  were 
rendered  level  at  the  top  and  capable  of  holding  nearly 
double  the  load  contained  without  the  boards. 


POSTSCRIPTUM  355 

"  Henry,"  said  the  father,  when  the  two  were  picking 
near  together  and  throwing  corn  over  the  tail-gate  of  the 
wagon,  "  if  you  give  up  goin'  away  an'  git  married  right 
off,  an'  settle  toun  here,  1 'in  a-mine  to  teed  you  that  east 
eighty  an'  a  forty  of  timber.  Eh  ?  " 

"  That  's  purty  good,"  said  Henry ;  "  but  if  your  deed 
waits  till  I  find  a  wife,  it  may  be  a  good  while  coming." 

"  That  eighty  lays  'longside  of  Albaugh's  medder  an' 
lower  gorn-field,"  said  the  father,  significantly. 

"  You  mean  if  I  was  to  marry  Rache,  Albaugh  might 
give  us  another  slice." 

"  Of  gourse  he  would ;  an'  I  'd  help  you  put  up  a  house, 
an'  maybe  I  'd  let  you  hav'  the  roan  golt.  You  'd  hav'  the 
red  heifer  anyhow." 

"  But  I  never  took  a  shine  to  Rache ;  and  if  I  did,  I 
could  n't  noways  come  in.  They  's  too  many  knocking  at 
that  door." 

"  But  Rachel  ain't  no  vool,"  said  the  elder.  "  She  knows 
a  good  piece  of  lant  w'en  she  sees  it,  an'  maybe  she  's  got 
enough  of  voolin'  rount." 

All  that  afternoon  Henry  revolved  this  proposition  in 
his  mind,  and  he  even  did  what  he  had  never  done  before 
in  his  life — he  lay  awake  at  night.  The  next  day,  after  the 
midday  dinner,  he  said  to  himself :  "  I  might  as  well  resk 
it.  Albaugh  's  got  an  all-fired  good  place,  and  all  out  of 
debt.  And  that  's  a  tre-mendous  nice  eighty  father  's 
offered  to  give  me." 

So  he  went  up  stairs  and  put  on  a  new  suit  of  blue  jeans 


356  THE  GRAY  SONS 

fresh  from  his  mother's  loom.  Then  he  walked  over  to 
Albaugh's,  to  find  Rachel  sewing  on  the  front  porch. 

Rachel  had  been  "  kindah  dauncey  like/7  as  her  mother 
expressed  it,  ever  since  her  visit  to  Barbara.  She  had 
received  as  many  attentions  as  usual,  but  they  seemed  flat 
and  unrelishable  to  her  now.  She  began  seriously  to 
reflect  that  a  girl  past  twenty-three  was  growing  old  in  the 
estimation  of  the  country,  and  yet  she  was  further  than 
ever  from  being  able  to  make  a  choice  between  the  lovers 
that  paid  her  court,  more  or  less  seriously. 

When  she  looked  up  and  saw  Henry  Miller  coming  in  at 
the  gate  she  felt  a  strange  surprise.  She  had  never  before 
seen  him  in  Sunday  clothes  or  visiting  on  a  week-day. 

"  Hello,  Henry!  Looking  for  Ike?"  she  asked,  with 
neighborly  friendliness. 

"  No,  not  as  I  know  of.  I  've  come  to  talk  to  you, 
Rache." 

"  To  me  ?  Well,  you  're  the  last  one  I  >d  look  for  to 
come  to  talk  to  me ;  and  in  daytime,  and  corn-shucking 
not  begun  yet.'7  There  was  an  air  of  excited  curiosity  in 
her  manner.  It  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  she  was  inwardly 
asking,  "  What  can  Henry  Miller  be  up  to,  anyhow ! "  but 
to  him  she  said,  "  Come  in,  Henry,  an'  take  a  cheer." 

"  No,  I  '11  sed  down  here,"  he  answered,  taking  a  seat  on 
the  edge  of  the  porch,  like  the  outdoor  man  that  he  was, 
approaching  a  house  with  half  reluctance. 

The  relations  between  Henry  and  Rachel  were  uncon 
strained.  They  had  played  "  hide  and  whoop  "  together  in 


POSTSCRIPTUM  357 

childhood,  and  times  innumerable  they  had  gone  on  black- 
berrying  and  other  excursions  together ;  he  had  swung  her 
on  long  grape-vine  swings  on  the  hill-side;  they  had 
trudged  to  and  from  school  in  each  other's  company, 
exchanging  sweet-cakes  from  their  lunch-baskets,  and  yet 
they  had  never  been  lovers. 

"  Rache,"  he  said,  locking  his  broad,  brown  hands  over 
his  knee,  "  father  says  he  '11  give  me  that  east-eighty  when 
ever  I  get  married,  if  I  won't  go  off  West." 

"  You  '11  be  a  good  while  getting  married,  Henry.  You 
never  was  a  hand  to  go  after  the  girls." 

"  No,  but  I  might  chance  to  get  married  shortly,  for  all 
that.  The  boys  that  do  a  good  deal  of  sparking  and  the  girls 
that  have  a  lot  of  beaux  don't  always  get  married  first. 
You  'd  ought  to  know  that,  Eache,  by  your  own  experience." 

Rachel  laughed  good-naturedly,  and  waited  with  curi 
osity  to  discover  what  all  this  was  leading  up  to. 

"  What  I  'm  thinking,"  said  Henry,  with  the  air  of  a  man 
approaching  a  horse-trade  cautiously,  lest  he  should  make 
a  false  step,  "  is  this :  that  eighty  of  our'n  jines  onto  your 
medder  and  west  corn-field." 

"Do  you  want  to  sell  it?"  said  Rachel.  "You  might 
see  father ;  he  'd  like  to  have  it,  I  expect." 

"  Can't  you  guess  what  it  is  that  I  'm  coming  at?" 

"  No,  I  can't,"  said  Rachel ;  "  not  to  save  my  life." 

"Looky  here,  Rache,"  and  Henry  gave  his  shoulders 
a  twitch,  "  the  two  farms  jine  j  now,  what  if  you  and  me 
was  to  jine  ? " 


358  THE  GRATSONS 

"  Well,  Henry  Miller,  if  you  don't  beat  the  Dutch !  I 
never  heard  the  like  of  that  in  all  my  born  days  ! "  Rachel 
had  heard  many  propositions  of  marriage,  but  this  sort  of 
love-making,  with  eighty  acres  of  prairie  land  for  a  buffer, 
was  a  novelty  to  her. 

"Looky  here,  Rache,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  protest,  "I  've 
knew  you  ever  since  you  was  knee-high  to  a  grasshopper. 
Now,  what  's  the  use  of  fooling  and  nonsense  betwixt  you 
and  me  ?  You  know  what  J  am  —  a  good,  stiddy-going, 
hard-working  farmer,  shore  to  get  my  sheer  of  what  's  to  be 
had  in  the  world  without  scrouging  anybody  else.  And 
I  know  just  exactly  what  you  air.  We  've  always  got  along 
mighty  well  together,  and  if  I  have  n't  ever  made  a  fool  of 
myself  about  your  face,  w'y,  so  much  the  better  for  me. 
Now,  whaddy  yeh  say  1  Let 's  make  it  a  bargain." 

"  W'y,  Henry  Miller,  what  a  way  of  talking ! " 

"Rache,  come,  go  along  with  me  and  see  where'bouts 
I  'm  going  to  put  up  a  house.  Father  's  promised  to  help 
me.  It  's  down  by  the  spring,  just  beyand  your  medder 
fence.  Will  you  go  along  down?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  care  if  I  do  go  down  with  you,  Henry. 
But  it  's  awful  funny  to  come  to  such  a  subject  in  that 


way.'7 


Rachel  put  on  her  sun-bonnet,  and  they  went  through 
the  orchard  together. 

"  We  could  put  up  a  nice  house  there.  Father  's  willing 
to  throw  in  a  forty  of  timber  too  — the  forty  that  jines 
onto  this  eighty  over  yander.  We  'd  be  well  fixed  up  to 


POSTSCRIPTUM  359 

begin,  no  matter  what  your  father  done  or  did  n't  do  for 
us.  Whaddy  you  think  of  the  plan?" 

"You — you  have  n't  said  you  loved  me,  or  anything," 
said  Rachel,  piqued  at  having  her  charms  quite  left  out  of 
the  account.  But  she  could  not  hide  from  herself  that 
Henry's  proposition  had  substantial  advantages.  She  only 
added,  "  What  a  curious  man  you  are !  " 

"  Don't  you  believe  I  'd  make  a  good  husband f" 

"Yes,  of  course  you  would." 

"And  a  good  provider? " 

"  Yes,  I  'm  shore  of  that." 

"  Well,  now,  I  ?m  not  going  to  pretend  I  'm  soft  on  you. 
If  you  say  '  No,'  well  and  good ;  there  's  an  end.  I  sha'n't 
worry  myself  into  consumption.  You  've  got  a  right  to  do 
as  you  please.  I  'm  not  going  to  have  folks  say  that  I  ?m 
another  of  the  fools  that's  broke  their  hearts  over  Rache 
Albaugh.  Once  you  're  mine,  I  '11  set  my  heart  on  you  fast 
enough.  But  I  never  set  my  heart  on  anything  I  might 
n't  be  able  to  get." 

Rachel  did  not  say  anything  to  this  bit  of  philosophy. 
She  had  in  the  last  two  weeks  recognized  the  advisability 
of  her  getting  married  as  soon  as  she  could  settle  herself. 
But  on  taking  an  inventory  of  her  present  stock  of  beaux, 
she  had  mentally  rejected  them  all.  They  were  prospect- 
ively  an  unprosperous  lot,  and  Rachel  was  too  mature  to 
marry  adversity  for  the  sake  of  sentiment.  She  found  her- 
srlf  able  to  listen  to  Henry  Miller's  cool-blooded  proposition 
with  rather  more  tolerance  than  she  felt  when  hearing  the 


360  THE  GRAYSONS 

kind  of  love-talk  she  had  been  used  to.  Why  not  get  her 
father  to  do  as  well  by  her  as  the  Millers  would  by  Henry, 
or  to  do  better,  seeing  he  was  the  richer  and  had  but  two 
children  ?  Then  they  might  begin  life  with  plenty  of  acres 
and  a  good  stock  of  butter  cows. 

Henry  showed  her  where  they  could  put  their  house, 
where  the  barn  would  be  placed,  and  where  they  would 
have  a  garden.  Eachel  felt  a  certain  pleasure  in  fancying 
herself  the  mistress  of  such  a  place.  But  it  was  contrary 
to  all  the  precedents  laid  down  in  the  few  romances  she 
had  read  for  a  woman  to  marry  a  man  who  was  not  her 
"slave";  that  was  the  word  the  old  romancers  took  delight 
in.  She  tried  to  coquet  with  Henry,  in  order  to  draw  from 
him  some  sort  of  professions  of  love.  A  flirtation  with  a 
lay  figure  would  have  been  quite  as  successful.  He  was 
plain  prose,  and  she  presently  saw  that  if  she  accepted  him 
it  must  be  done  in  prose.  She  could  n't  help  liking  his 
very  prose  j  she  was  a  little  tired  of  slaves  j  it  seemed,  on 
the  whole,  better  to  have  a  man  at  least  capable  of  being 
master  of  himself. 

In  much  the  same  tone  — the  tone  of  a  man  buying,  or 
selling,  or  proposing  a  co-partnership  for  business  purposes 
—  Henry  Miller  carried  on  the  conversation  all  the  way 
back  until  they  reached  the  corn-crib,  where  he  came  to  a 
stand-still. 

"  Whaddy  yeh  say,  Rachel  ?    Is  it  a  bargain  ? " 
"  Well,  Henry,  it 's  sudden  like.     I  want  to  take  time  to 
think  it  over." 


POSTSCRIPTUM  361 

"  Then  I  '11  take  back  the  offer  and  put  out  for  the  loway 
country.  1 'm  not  a-going  to  have  my  skelp  a-hanging  to 
your  belt  for  days  and  days,  like  the  rest  of  them.  What's 
the  use  of  thinking?  You  don't  want  to  take  Magill,  do 
you  ?  " 

"  He  's  too  old,  and  his  nose  is  rather  red,"  laughed 
Rachel. 

"  Nor  Tom  Grayson,  I  suppose  ?  "  Henry  mentioned  Tom 
as  the  second  because  he  was  the  one  about  whom  he  had 
misgivings. 

"  I  give  him  the  sack  before  the  shooting,  and  I  'm  not 
going  to  go  back  to  him  now.7' 

Rachel  faltered  a  little  in  this  reply,  but  she  spoke  with 
that  resolute  insincerity  for  which  women  hold  an  indul 
gence  in  advance  when  their  hearts  are  being  searched. 

"  Well,"  said  Henry,  "  if  you  think  you  can  do  better  by 
waiting,  I  'm  off.  If  you  think  I  'm  about  as  good  a  man 
as  you  're  likely  to  pick  up,  here  's  your  chance.  It 's 
going,  going,  gone  with  me.  Either  I  marry  you  and  take 
father's  offer,  or  I  put  out  for  the  loway  country.  I  don't 
ask  you  to  think  I  'm  perfection,  but  just  to  take  a  sober, 
common-sense  look  at  things." 

Rachel  saw  that  it  was  of  no  use  to  expect  Henry  to 
court  her,  and  she  could  not  help  liking  him  the  better  for 
his  honest  straightforwardness.  She  looked  down  a  min 
ute,  in  the  hope  that  he  would  say  something  that  might 
make  it  easier  for  her  to  answer,  but  he  kept  his  silence. 

"  Henry,"  she  said  at  length,  rolling  a  corn-cob  over  and 
31 


362  THE  GEAYSONS 

over  under  the  toe  of  her  shoe,  "  I  've  got  a  good  mind  to 
say  i  Yes.'  You  don't  make  me  sick,  like  the  rest  of  them. 
Father  '11  be  struck  when  he  hears  of  it.  He  's  always  said 
I  'd  marry  some  good-for-nothing  town-fellow." 

"  Is  it  a  bargain,  good  and  fast  ?  "  said  Henry,  holding 
out  his  hand,  as  he  would  have  done  to  clinch  the  buying 
of  a  piece  of  timber  land  or  a  sorrel  horse. 

"  Yes,"  said  Rachel,  laughing  at  the  oddness  of  it  and  the 
suddenness  of  it,  "  I  'm  tired  of  fooling.  It  's  a  bargain, 
Henry." 

"  Good  fer  you,  Rache!     Now  I  begin  to  like  you  better 

than  ever." 


FOURTEEN  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

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